Don't Cry Out Loud
by Paper-Whore
Summary: Erik and Christine are given a second chance at love thanks to a modern day couple. Why were they chosen to travel back to 1881? What links do they share with Erik and Christine? Details two parallel love stories spanning over one hundred years.
1. Prologue

**Don't Cry Out Loud**

I am very excited to present not only my first novel-length fic, but also my first attempt at a modern Phantom. After numerous attempts and six months of work, it is finally ready.

A huge thanks must go to my Beta. She did a wonderful job editing my story and keeping my characters real.

I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. No infringement is intended.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

1890

Christine, the Comtesse de Chagny allowed her husband of nine years to assist her into their automobile following an evening at the theatre in the small town they had lived ever since their marriage. She smiled softly in the darkness as Raoul settled a rug across her lap to ward off the cool night air. She stared out the window at the passing traffic as they left the centre of the city behind and returned home to their house on the outskirts of town.

Tears slipped down Christine's cheeks as she thought of the life she had given up to become a Comtesse. She was thankful for the luxury she now lived in; it was such a contrast to her childhood. She loved her three children – Alphonse, Astrid and little Jacqueline – dearly and could not imagine her life without them or Raoul.

Yet, she was filled with a sense of emptiness, as though she had not achieved all she was supposed to. The emptiness grew every time she and Raoul would go to the theatre or the opera or the ballet.

She missed dancing until she was exhausted and singing until she was hoarse. She had not seen Meg since she left Paris, and was unable to attend her wedding to the Baron.

She was longing for the life she left behind.


	2. Dreams and Designs

**Dreams and Designs**

Little six-year old Karla stared at her father from her position in the wings as he rehearsed with the orchestra for the concert later that night. Charlie Beaumont, the Parisian tenor who toured the world with his daughter in tow, was Karla's hero!

Whenever he would ask his daughter what she wanted to be, without missing a beat, Karla would cry, "A soprano!"

The life of a performer held a lot of excitement for her; travelling to places she'd seen in books, listening to different languages and accents and most of all, watching her papa receive a standing ovation at the end of every performance. She wanted to be just like her father, and the best way to do that was to become a singer, just like him.

When Karla was four, her mother had died in a car accident while running errands. At the time, her father was away on tour and Karla was with her grandparents. She could remember the phone ringing and her grandparents taking her to the cold, sterile hospital. The two days spent waiting for her father to return to Paris had been the longest and most painful in Karla's young life.

He was everything she could wish for in a father, despite his busy schedule. He would always listen to her complaints about her tutor. For an hour everyday he would teach her the piano and voice. He would tell her stories as she lay in bed at night.

"What do you think, Karla?" Charlie asked as he finished the song.

Karla wrinkled her nose as she considered the question. Her green eyes narrowed as she considered her father's voice and the orchestra. She shook her head when she reached her answer.

"You were perfect, papa! But someone in the strings is out of tune…I think."

Charlie smiled. He had taught his daughter the basics of music from a young age and was thankful everyday that his daughter possessed perfect pitch and several other associated necessities.

The members of the string section quickly checked their instruments, reluctant to be singled out by a child. When Charlie was certain they were in the same key, he indicated that they would start the next song.

With a wink at his daughter, he turned his attention back to the music.

* * *

At the age of thirteen, Karla was still travelling the world with her father and was now performing a duet as part of his concerts. It was quite by accident that Karla acquired her own position.

Charlie's manager, Dominque Oswald had walked in to the studio an hour early for a session as Karla and Charlie were finishing the piano lesson. He sat and watched unseen, as the pair began their lesson with Charlie subtly pulling the emotion from Karla and stretching her voice as far as possible.

When the pair finished Dominque joined them, a broad smile on his face. He applauded Karla softly.

"Brilliant, Karla! Incredible!" he raved, unaware of the blush staining her face. "Charlie, she has to record a duet with you! She has to perform with you on your tours! Will you?"

Karla was surprised that Dominique's reaction, surely he had heard her sing before. She thought back to her rehearsals with her father and realised that he had always been careful to ensure that no one heard his daughter singing and encouraged her to perform and take away her childhood.

Karla stared the man she had known most of her life with wide eyes. Dominque was asking her to become a singer and perform beside her father! She glanced up at her father to see his brown eyes shining with suppressed excitement.

His next words, she was certain, would be, "Of course Karla would love to, and so would I." Her agreement was cut short when Charlie said, "We'll have to discuss this before we give you a definite answer."

Two days later, Charlie agreed to allow Karla to record a track for his latest album and joined him as a fellow performer on his world tour. Recording the duet with her father was nothing new to Karla. The challenge came when she was to sing in front of thousands of people for the first time.

Karla stood in the wings, just as she had done as a child, dressed in a pink and blue evening dress. Her mind was darting in every direction, able to think of anything but the performance. When her cue came, everything fell into place. From then on, Karla replaced all duettists who toured with Charlie Beaumont.

"Promise me you will continue with your singing, Karla." Charlie grasped her hands as he stared intently into her face at the end of a concert. "Your voice it too perfect; it needs to be heard. I won't always be here, and I need to know you are making the most of your gift."

Karla smiled sadly at her father. She hated when he spoke like that; as though he was dying from some mystery illness and wanted to make everything right before he left.

"I promise, Papa."

* * *

Having grown up outside Rouen with a mother who was repulsed by the creature she gave birth to, and a father, who was not allowed to look upon his son, Erik received his first name from a gypsy. During his time spent with the gypsies, Erik learnt the skills of magic, illusion and ventriloquism. He was eventually fetched on the Shah's orders and constructed palaces and became the royal assassin.

Eventually, knowing more than he should, Erik journeyed to Paris, where he convinced Charles Garnier to allow him to work on the construction of the Paris Opera House. The Opera House was, in his mind, his tribute to music. He owed her so much. He needed to thank her for all the company and beauty she had offered.

When construction was completed, Erik retired one last time to his home in the house on the lake under the stage of the Opera. He had hoped that in all of his travels he would find a race of people who were not deceptive, ignorant or obsessed with what lay on the surface. But that race was never found. All Erik wanted was to be accepted for his abilities and personality, and not endure people running or fainting at the sight of him. And so, he contented himself to a life of peace and solitude.

His well-laid plans of peace were ruined one auspicious day when he encountered Christine Daaé for the first time. The little Swedish soprano, with a voice that could make angels weep quickly became his obsession, his weakness.

* * *

Christine stood in her dimly lit dressing room late one evening, singing through La Carlotta's aria. Her voice was unmarred by jealousy, but her thoughts were not. How she would have loved the opportunity to be the Prima Donna. But, Christine knew her place; she was nothing but a chorus girl. Be thankful for small mercies, she was often told as a child.

Perhaps, she thought despairingly, perhaps her Angel of Music would still come to her, and he would shape and mould her voice into something beautiful. And, he would sing her to sleep just as father promised.

As she sang, Christine heard an enchanting voice. Running out of her room, she searched for the voice, but found nothing. When she returned, it seemed to fill the room and wrap around her. Christine could feel her body quivering, thrilled. The voice filled her mind. Her first thought was that it was her Angel of Music, finally come to her. But she could not doubt the Angel and insult him by asking him if truly were him.

The voice and Christine would talk. She would ask him questions and he would answer her. Christine spoke to Mama Valérius, her adoptive mother about her visit, who persuaded her to ask the voice if he was her Angel of Music, sent to her by deceased father.

When Erik first heard Christine Daaé sing again, he knew that he had to do whatever it took to make her his—his student and his wife. When she timidly asked if he was her Angel of Music, that her father had promised to send, Erik, took full advantage of the idea.

"Yes, I am," he responded. "I am the Angel your father promised you, Christine."

Erik wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to befriend her Angel before he asked leave to tutor her. He spent the time they were together carefully sculpting a bond that would always connect the pair together. Once he was convinced it was unbreakable, Erik told her of his plans.

"I would like to teach you, to tutor you and sculpt a voice. With my training, you will be the next Prima Donna. With a voice as pure as yours, you will have the masses flocking to hear you sing. You will have angels weeping."

"Please, Angel. Teach me," she pleaded her eyes bright with excitement. "I have waited for you for so long. Teach me!"

* * *

That night as she lay in her bed in that sweet place between consciousness and unconsciousness, Christine heard her Angel's voice talking to her. She could hear him whispering gentle words of encouragement and his plans to make her the greatest opera singer the world had ever seen. She smiled, feeling protected and loved.

Every morning without fail, the Angel and Christine would begin their lessons at eight o'clock. They were joined by the most accurate and exquisite accompaniment that Christine had ever heard. He seemed to know precisely where she was in her training and development of her voice.

She could feel him shaping her voice with every note they sang together. When she was with him in the dressing room, Christine sang in the most beautiful and accurate voice. When she left the room, she returned to plain Christine Daaé who had not been blessed by the Angel of Music. She assumed that it was because the Angel did not feel she was ready to shine. He warned her to be patient and soon she would have her opportunity to dazzle Paris.


	3. The Charity Masque

**The Charity Masque**

Karla looked at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, hating what she saw. She had long ago stopped seeing herself as an attractive brunette. Now, all she saw was a traitor; a woman who made promises and broke them in the next breath.

As a teenager, Karla was recognised for the emotional and pure quality of her voice. Many imagined her to become one of the best sopranos of the twenty-first century. However, she had lost all passion for singing when her father died five years ago. Singing reminded her too much of her dear papa and simply brought back too many memories she would rather forget.

Deep down, she knew Charlie Beaumont would rather she reneged on her promise than spend the rest of her life doing something that broke her heart, but it did not help.

* * *

Erik took great pleasure in humiliating Carlotta that night as she sang the role of Margarita. As she continued to infuriate him, and his frustration grew, he released the chandelier from its post. Erik did warn the idiot managers. He gave them ample warnings, but they paid him no heed. 

During the few seconds it took for the chandelier to reach the ground, Erik was able to admire the blur of gold and light. He was amazed how something so beautiful such as this light could be so dangerous. But then women too were beautiful and dangerous… The screams and cries of the audience added to the effect and his distraction.

The chandelier landed with a pleasing crash. He did not stay long enough to determine whether anyone was harmed. Though, how a chandelier weighing a ton could not kill or at the very least injure, Erik did not know.

He returned to Christine's dressing room and awaited her behind the mirror. When Christine did arrive, she looked around wildly, but seeing and feeling nothing, she collapsed and began to cry. She pleaded with her Angel once again. Such tears and sorrow puzzled Erik.

"Angel! Oh, where are you? Oh, please come to me. Come to me so that I may know that you are unharmed! Angel!"

Erik could hear footsteps running down Christine's hallway, and was certain he could hear the boy's voice shouting for Christine. His brief moment of solitude would soon be at an end!

He did not know what words to say to the girl to ease her fears. Instead, Erik began to sing to her. Drawing her towards the mirror where he stood, Erik continued to sing until she was entranced, unable to notice anything but his voice, beckoning.

She was so thoroughly entranced by it that she could no longer think for herself. She could only gaze up at Erik, her eyes soft and trusting. She would have done anything he asked.

Erik pressed the switch to release the mirror and led Christine through the dark tunnels of the Opéra House. He led her down, deeper and deeper into the cellars.

She saw his mask in the dim lamplight and Erik could tell, from the look in her eyes that she was panicking. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was quickly covered. Her eyes fluttered shut and she was limp in Erik's arms.

They continued down until they reached the spring where Erik gently bathed her temples until she regained consciousness. They continued on their way to the house on the lake first by César, the white horse, then by boat.

* * *

Karla stood in front of the mirror admiring her reflection. Staring back at her was a middle-class lady dressed in the height of Victorian fashion with brown hair elegantly arranged in a coiffure with curls cascading down her back. All she needed to finish her costume was a pair of pearl earrings, a pearl necklace and white elbow-length gloves. 

When she received the invitation, she had wasted no time going down to the costume shop; she knew precisely what she wanted to wear. There she found a late nineteenth century ball gown. It was a bit too small, but nothing she could not endure for one night.

As she was leaving the shop with the gown safely packed in a suit bag, she nearly collided with a man in a business suit talking on his phone. His voice held a dangerous coolness as he spoke to the other person on the line, yet there was nothing in his face or amber eyes to give away his emotion, other than that his black hair looked as though he had run his hands through it.

Karla looked up at him, expecting an apology, but received none. Her eyes narrowed at the man's arrogance. Just because he was devastatingly handsome, he thought he could do whatever he liked! His eyes held hers for a moment before he raised a mocking brow at her expression of superiority.

* * *

Now Karla stood nervously looking around for at all the people dressed in fancy dress with masks covering much of their face. Mya was around somewhere; no doubt, she had found someone to chat to. The woman had a natural ability to talk to anyone, how she developed it, she had no idea. 

Across the Hall, she saw a man dressed as The Phantom, complete with white half-mask. She giggled softly to herself, wondering if he would ever notice her. Based on the way he was flirting with a dark haired Arabian Princess with lots of chiffon and only a little left to the imagination, he would not even see her by the end of the night.

Just when she was considering sitting down in a corner of the room, a man dressed very originally as James Bond appeared beside her, asking her to dance with him. She smiled as he placed a hand on her back and led her onto the dance floor past The Phantom.

Tristan looked up from his intimate conversation with the pretty Princess with the distinct feeling he was being watched. Sweeping his gaze over the sea of people, he saw a brunette dressed in the most elaborate and beautiful gown he had ever seen – if you liked that sort of ostentatiousness. The beauty looked as though the dress had been made especially for her. Every detail complimented her every feature of her delicate face and figure.

He was just about to disentangle himself and go introduce himself to her when he saw a man join her and place a possessive hand on her back. For the rest of the night, he could not keep his eyes off the goddess. He desperately wanted to talk to her, to hold her in his arms, but could not. Someone, usually a man or a fair haired faerie always surrounded her.

He would just wait. He would have his chance soon enough.

"Still haven't found him?" Karla asked with a smile as Mya threw herself angrily into the chair.

"Damn him and his sense of humour!" she huffed as she squinted into the crowd. "Who would have thought I'd have so much trouble finding my fiancé!"

Karla laughed at Mya's disgusted expression. Aleksandr had kept his costume a secret from the two women and had given his fiancée the task of finding him in a crowd of people dressed as anything in their imagination by ten o'clock. She only had twenty-two minutes until the clock would toll the hour.

"What about that knight?" Karla asked pointing to the other side of the room.

"There he is!" Mya cried as she jumped to her feet and headed to where a gangster was standing by the bar.

"Let's hope so." she called after her. "You've only got eighteen minutes!"

Karla smiled sadly when she saw Aleksandr sweep Mya into his arms and kiss her before looking down at her with mock sternness. Mya laughed at him and kissed him on the lips before tugging him to the dance floor.

When he saw the blonde leave the Victorian woman sitting alone, Tristan grabbed two champagnes intending to offer her one. Judging by her expression she was resting her feet; he had only seen her sit out one song. He approached the table and slipped into the chair her friend has recently vacated without a word.

"Champagne?"

Karla glanced at the man and smiled brilliantly at him when she realised it was her Phantom. She was about to take a sip when she paused. Looking into his eyes she smiled softly again.

"Thank you," she said softly as she began to drink.

"This is the first song you have sat out tonight," Tristan observed in an offhanded manner as he sipped his champagne.

Karla stared at the man with wide eyes. She could not help but smile at the thought of him watching her all night. She found herself flattered that he had been watching her and waiting for his chance to speak to her.

She bit her lip as she considered her response. What did one say to such a compliment? As the silence dragged on to an uncomfortable length, she said the first thing that came to mind.

"Will I have to call you Phantom all night, or do I get to know your name?"

Tristan's eyes took on a slight shine as he considered the woman's forward nature. He liked that. "Phantom will do nicely."

"Christine," Karla said sweetly, offering him the back of her hand to kiss. She was surprised how bold she was being; she would never have behaved this way! Then wearing a mask seemed to offer certain anonymity.

Tristan waited until the song ended before he stood and formally offered his hand. "Dance with me?"

Karla chewed on her lip for a moment in indecision. She could think of nothing more pleasing than being this gorgeous man's arms. But her feet; she had pulled the slippers off and did not think she would be able to wedge them back on. Could her feet handle another dance?

"Leave them off," Tristan responded with a negligent shrug to her unasked question.

With a laugh, Karla placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead the way to the middle of the dance floor. Her slippers were forgotten under the table. "Just don't stand on my toes!"

Karla sighed softly. She knew being in his arms would be like this! So much strength was concealed by his fine clothes and his gentleness. She was considering resting her head on his chest when he suddenly grasped her tightly, drawing her against his body.

Karla looked up at his face, and saw him watching a young man dressed as a mummy. Judging by his excitable dancing, he had nearly crashed into them. Tightening her grip around his neck, she rested her head on his chest.

"Do I get to see your face before midnight?" Tristan asked. They had been dancing for a few songs and had said very little – and definitely nothing that could give away their true identities.

Drawn rudely from her dreamlike state, Karla frowned as she considered his question. This whole night seemed like a fantasy. The expensive gown, the mask and the gentleman she was dancing with. The thought of ruining it with reality was too much to bear. She shook her head.

"I'll need something to remember you by if we ever meet again," Tristan said as he flicked his attention between her eyes and her lips. He had noticed that she would chew on her lower lip whenever she was nervous or thinking. He could not help but wonder if her lips would swell under his the way they did when she gnawed on them.

"What would that be?" Karla asked huskily.

Without answering, Tristan covered her lips with his in a passionate kiss. When she moaned into his mouth, Tristan forgot everything. The fact that they were standing kissing in the middle of a crowd did not matter.

* * *

Christine returned to her dressing room with a light step and an air of delight. Erik was there waiting for her. 

"What is the matter?" he asked, as kindly and gently as he could.

"Oh, Angel, I have just seen my dearest Raoul de Chagny. Raoul and I were childhood friends. The dear boy ran into the sea to fetch my scarf for me! Oh, he'll always have a place in my heart. He is here, in Paris! My dearest Raoul!"

Her response shocked Erik. His Christine, the child he loved and taught was in love with another. He was consumed by bitterness once again at the fickleness of women. Unable to look at her beautiful, deceiving face, Erik turned and walked slowly back down into the depths of the cellar. She cried out pitifully to Erik as he left her in the silence of her room. His ears were deaf to her pleas, but his heart was not.


	4. The Owner of de Valence Realty

**The Owner of de Valence Realty **

Christine closed the door of her dressing room a little before eight the next morning. One look at her told Erik that she too had endured a restless night. Her delightfully expressive face betrayed her inner turmoil.

"Christine," Erik breathed softly, sadly. "Dear, you must know that if you decide to bequeath your heart here on earth, no longer will I be able to stay; I must return to Heaven." He could not lose Christine to the ass!

He was falling deeper in love with his Christine as each day passed. Her voice would fill his mind as he sat alone in his house. He could smell her sweet perfume wherever he went. When he closed his eyes to sleep, she was there in his dreams. He had to keep her by his side, and if he had to issue the choice of the little peer or keeping her Angel, then so be it.

Erik adored her. He loved her so much that he would do anything to make her happy. He knew what would make her happy. Her secret wish was to have the opportunity to sing the role of Margarita. Erik would do anything it took to achieve that for her. He loved her so much, and so desperately wanted to see her happy. He would kill, just to see her smile.

Christine raised her terror filled eyes to her mirror.

"No, Angel," she gasped. "Raoul is nothing to me, but the brother I never had. I cannot give my heart here on earth. Please, Angel, do not leave me again. Please, the silence of last night was unbearable. I do not know what I would do if you were to leave me forever."

* * *

Karla spent the day following the Masquerade painting. She stood in her bright studio of her little two bedroom apartment studying the photo of Harrods on a typical dull day in London. She had taken the photo some eight years ago when she was touring England with her father on his last tour.

She glanced at the clock on the wall above the easel and cursed silently to herself. Her hands were covered in paint – no doubt she had it streaked across her forehead too – and had to meet Mya for coffee in thirty minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, Karla was showered and dressed. She grabbed the evening bag she had used the night before from the kitchen bench where she had left it and began to transfer its contents back to her handbag.

A small business card with a small photograph caught her attention.

Tristan de Valence.

Karla smiled to herself when she realised that her Phantom had obviously slipped it into her bag while she was not looking. She was glad that he had taken the initiative and given her a way to continue their relationship.

Her eyes widened; he seemed to be the owner of the real estate business. Either that or his father owned the business and had given him the job. Karla dismissed that thought as impossible. Tristan de Valence did not seem like the kind of man who wanted things to be handed to him. He seemed like the kind of man who was more than happy to go out and fight for what he wanted.

Karla shrugged her thoughts of Tristan away as she grabbed her coat and rushed to meet Mya. But her friend appeared eager to continue Karla's previous line of thought.

"Who was that man last night? The two of you seemed quite touchy," Mya demanded with a glint in her eye. She had seen the two kissing and moving in time to the music, oblivious to everyone else and was eager to know more.

Karla knew better than to try and distract her friend when she wanted the latest gossip on Karla's love life. She repeated everything she knew of Tristan, which she realised sadly, was very little. She handed Mya the card with a small photo of him to inspect.

"He's gorgeous…even better without that mask!"

Karla laughed, silently agreeing with her friend. "Don't let your fiancé hear you say that. Aleksandr might have a few things to say about you checking out they guy I met last night."

"Did you give him your number?" Mya wanted to know.

Ever since her friend's broken engagement five years ago, Karla had never seemed overly interested in any man. She would go on one forced date and decide that the man was not for her. As far as Mya knew, she never allowed the guy to kiss her. She was amazed that she allowed Tristan de Valence that liberty.

"No. I don't know if I'll call him either," Karla said bluntly as she put the card back in her bag.

"Why not?" Mya wanted shake her. She could not believe Karla was going to let this model walk out of her life so easily.

"I have my exhibition in a few months. I am nowhere near completing the paintings the gallery wants me to do. I am going to be painting all the time to get it done by the deadline!"

Mya glared at her friend. "Karla Marguerite Beaumont, how can you say that? He's gorgeous!" Although she was accustomed to her using her painting as an excuse for anything, Mya was frustrated. Her mind began to think of a way to get her reluctant friend to go out with Tristan.

Karla shrugged. "Speaking of my exhibition," Karla said, deciding it was time to change the subject, "You and Aleksandr will come to my exhibition, won't you?"

Mya smiled. "I would not miss it!"

* * *

Christine's moment to dazzle Paris, just as the Angel of Music had promised had finally arrived. Carlotta had taken ill and she was asked to stand-in for her. She did not dare question what marvellous stroke of luck granted her this opportunity.

As she stood on the stage, staring out at the vast audience, she sang with her heart and soul, desperately wanting to make her Angel proud of his student. Christine gave him everything she had that night.

She gave him her soul.

Christine was so overcome with emotion that she could feel herself fainting into the arms of the _corps de ballet_.

After a time, she awoke to find herself in her dressing room. Raoul and the Angel were with her. In a poor attempt to deceive her Angel, Christine laughed at Raoul and his attempts to remind her of the little boy at the beach.

She could feel her Angel's jealousy causing a most overwhelming tension in the room. He informed Christine that if Raoul was as she said he was, just a brother, then she should have no reason to avoid him. She was therefore forced to invite Raoul to join the journey to Perros to visit Daddy's grave.

* * *

Christine stared wide-eyed at her surroundings. She was standing in an elegant drawing room decorated with fresh flowers. The Angel spoke to her in his tender voice, attempting to reassure and calm her.

"All will be well so long as you do not touch my mask," he warned.

It was then that Christine realised that her Angel of Music was a myth! He was nothing but a story her father had created to lull her to sleep. For standing before her was not her Angel, but a man!

She began to cry. Oh, how she had been deceived! By her father. By this man. Erik seemed to understand the cause of her tears. As they subsided, he turned to her, his eyes serious.

"See what I am, Christine Daaé? I am just a man who has deceived you. Oh, forgive me; forgive my deception.

"I have brought you here, because of my love for you and your voice," he repeated himself, tears shining in his eyes. "You are in no danger if my mask remains untouched."

Taking courage from the pitiful creature she saw on his knees, Christine stood. "I can only despise you so long as you do not despise yourself, Erik."

Those softly spoken words seemed to be his undoing. He kissed the soft porcelain hand, the tears finally falling down his cheeks.

"Oh! I cannot keep you here. Christine, you may go! I will show you the way back up to the stage if you wish," he said as he stood up, straight and distinguished, so different to the crying man who knelt at her feet seconds ago.

Christine did not respond. While awaiting her answer, he sang. And she stayed.

Erik sang her to sleep that night, and when she awoke the next morning she found herself alone and locked in a bedroom. She found a note from Erik, saying that he had gone shopping. Christine was surprised that a man such as Erik with all of his talents of music, art and magic possessed such a distinctive script.

While she waited for him to return, Christine worked herself into a fit. She could feel herself becoming hysterical.

When he did finally return, Christine treated him to an appalling display of emotions. Calmly, he placed a pile of packages on the bed. Had she been in a more stable frame of mind, she would have taken delight in all the gifts he had bought her.

"Take your mask off!" she screamed at him. "If you are an honest gentleman, you will remove it! Why do you hide behind it? Are you a wanted man?"

"Dress. When you are finished, join me in the dining room for lunch." He did not deign to answer her shouted questions.

Christine emerged from her bedroom a half hour later looking greatly refreshed. Erik drank in her beauty. Before he could stop himself, he had professed his love to her once again.

"But I will only tell you when you give me leave," he promised her. "We shall spend the rest of the time devoted to our music."

After lunching, Erik took Christine on a tour of his house before sitting down at the piano and beginning to play. As he became absorbed in his music, Erik forgot that he was not alone in his house. It was not until he felt my mask being ripped from his face that he recalled Christine's presence.

"Horror!… Horror!… Horror!" he cried, reaching blindly for his mask.

"Damn you, you inquisitive woman! I told you! I told you to leave my mask alone! You wanted to see, well look!" He gestured at his face. "_Why_? Why did you have to know what my face looks like? Couldn't you be content with how things were?

"You have seen my face and now you belong to me." He advanced on Christine and grabbed her shoulders roughly. "When a woman has seen my face as you have, Christine, she stays with me and loves me. Or she dies," Erik added thinking of his mother and Luciana.

Erik paused his ranting to gaze into Christine's eyes. The look of fear shining in her eyes did not surprise him.

"My mother made me hide my face behind a mask. She never wanted to see my face! Why did you want to?" Erik asked wretchedly.

He made his way to my room, slamming the door behind me and sought refuge in _Don Juan._ A few moments later, Christine pushed open the door and begged him to show her his face without fear.

She compelled him to do so and soon, Erik was staring into her soft blue eyes.

* * *

Karla sighed. She had the job section of her paper open and was staring down at the print resigned. She needed a job to finance her painting. Her paintings were selling as well as they had in the past, but since moving to a larger apartment in a nicer part of Paris, the revenue she earned from the sale of her work went on living expenses. If she wanted to eat, she would need more income.

She had a considerable sum from her parents in term deposit, but she was determined not to touch it. One day, she hoped to marry and use that money to buy a lovely house – perhaps a chateau outside of Paris – and raise her children. She just wanted a normal life and upbringing for her children. She wanted them to go to schools and have friends; not tutors and tours.

Karla flicked through the paper, not overly interested in the advertisements. Most of the jobs were the ones she would never consider: child-care, waitress, retail. She felt like laughing when she saw that the manager of de Valence Realty was after a personal assistant.

Would he think her forward if she rang him and asked him for a coffee? Or, worse still, would he think she was desperate responding to the ad in the paper as a chance to get to know him? If she was Tristan, she would think she was forward ringing and asking for a date.

Mya would strangle her if she knew about the advertisement and Karla's preoccupation with Tristan de Valence. She would like to call Tristan and ask him to join her for a coffee, but did not know what to say to him. Applying for the job would give her an opportunity to be close to him and possibly further their relationship.

Karla grabbed the phone and dialled the number.

* * *

Tristan considered the woman who was now sitting in front of him. He was certain she was Christine from the masque. Of course there was only way he could know for certain. As much as he would have liked to grab her wrist and pulled her out of the chair she was sitting in and kiss her, Tristan restrained himself. He was certain she would melt in his arms, and her mouth would soften under his.

He had interviewed her the previous week along with a score of other women eager for the opportunity to work for one of the most successful realtors in France. Admittedly there were one or two interviewees, who were more suited to the job than Karla Beaumont, but she knew how to type and he was certain she would have a pleasant phone voice.

"I have a couple who have just bought their first home; I want you to send them a basket of fruit and champagne. I have two contracts that need to be typed." Tristan paused as he passed her the small pile of papers. "Ring Luttrell and see what is happening with the loan. Would you get me a coffee?"

Karla looked up from the notes she was taking. She had been working at de Valence Realty for two weeks and it had taken her only a day to realise he was a taskmaster. Everything had to be done straight away. There was only one way; his way.

She learnt the first day never to question any of Mr de Valence's orders. She had made the mistake once, and was never going to repeat it.

It was her first day and she was doing everything possible to be a model assistant dealing with every piece of paper and curt instruction Mr de Valence had thrown at her. The problem arose at fifteen minutes to five when he had ordered a coffee.

Karla raised her brows haughtily at him. "Making you a cup of coffee, Mr de Valence, is not part of my job description. If I intended to make cappuccinos, I would have applied at a coffee shop. You are more than capable of getting your own drink."

Tristan did not blink at Karla's outspoken statement. Instead, in the softest, coolest voice, he said, "It may not be part of the description, but it is expected. That is how we do things here at de Valence."

A coffee! Karla silently fumed as she marched to the door. She wondered if he deliberately asked her to make him a coffee because he knew how much it annoyed her. She was still adjusting to the fact that she was Tristan's personal barista.

"Karla, while you are making my coffee, make one for yourself and join me."

She raised her brows in surprise and began pulling out cups banging them onto the bench.

Karla threw the sugar in the cup and gave it a quick stir before returning to Erik's office and placing it silently in the corner away from the listings he was working on.

She could not help but wonder at his sudden change of heart. How many assistants were asked to join their boss for a coffee?

Tristan murmured a quiet "Thank you," and watched as Karla suspiciously settled herself into the chair and sipped her drink. "Were you at the charity masque last month?"

His question about the ball was unexpected and Karla found herself stuttering a response. "I-I-I was there."

Tristan nodded his head. "You were Christine, the lady from the eighteen hundreds, weren't you?"

Karla nodded. He remembered her! He had never said or done anything that indicated that he knew who she was. She felt her heart lighten with the knowledge that she obviously made an impression on him. Perhaps now he would take the next step and ask her out.


	5. The Great Exhibition

**The Great Exhibition**

The fortnight Christine spent with Erik down in the cellars was perhaps the happiest time of his life. Christine's presence saved him from his loneliness and misery. He had also changed in the time he had Christine by his side. He seemed to have… matured and was no longer a young boy with little self-esteem and confidence.

He would watch her, always careful that she should not catch him doing so. She was becoming unstill. But Erik was ruled by anxiety and did not want to let her out of his sight for fear she would never return.

In return for singing her to sleep, Christine would often recite stories her father told her as a child. Little Lotte was the heroine of all these tales. As Christine took the time to describe the little girl, Erik instantly realised that she was Lotte; Christine, it would seem had not. He found it easy to imagine her getting into trouble just as Lotte had. He could effortlessly bring to mind a picture of Christine persuading her mother, playing with her doll, and admiring her red shoes.

Of all of her father's stories, Erik's favourite was when Lotte would lie in bed, waiting, looking forward to the Angel of Music's nightly visits. That was exactly what his Christine had done. She waited for Erik to sing to her and come to her while she slept.

One evening as Erik was preparing dinner, Christine was out walking along the lake. That was as far as he dared let her out of his sight. She could not row across the lake herself.

When she returned, he looked up to see a glow in her eyes. She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of the formal meal he had arranged.

Holding a chair out for her, he waited as patiently as he could as Christine made her way to the table and sat down, eyeing my mask the entire time. After filling a plate and seeing to her comfort, Erik tended to his own plate.

"Erik," she began timidly, "Would you remove your mask, please?"

He had been expecting that and fortunately, was able to do so without his hands shaking.

The piano was playing softly in the background, but Erik could not hear it. He was aware of Christine gazing at him from under her lashes, and nothing else. He looked up at her, eager to see her eyes sparkling, but she shyly glanced away.

At the conclusion of dinner, Erik offered Christine his arm, which she took with a small, shaky smile. He gathered their cloaks and settled Christine's around her shoulders before collecting his mask.

Erik smiled slightly at Christine before he began to lead her up to Paris.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I thought we might take a walk along the Seine," he answered uncertainly. "You have needed time away from the Opéra and I have been remiss in my care of you."

She frowned at Erik's words before tugging on his arm to still him. "Erik, you have been most attentive of my needs. It is very thoughtful of you to join me tonight."

They continued in silence, both lost in their thoughts. It wasn't until they were walking along the river, arm in arm that they spoke again.

"What has been troubling you, Lotte?" Erik asked her softly.

She seemed reluctant to respond. Her eyes were glazed with unshed tears and distress. She chewed on her bottom lip as she considered her answer.

"You," she answered finally. Her honesty was more than Erik cared for. "You work yourself too hard. Tonight was the first time in four nights that you have taken dinner with me. There are other things more important than your manuscript, than your _Don Juan Triumphant_!"

Erik was shocked that she had been keeping tally of the nights he spent working. He was so overcome with shock, and later guilt, that he failed to feel pleased that she wanted to spend time with him. Erik sighed and hung his head, feeling once again like the shabby boy who could never please his mother.

As always, Erik's thoughts of his mother filled him with bitterness. All he ever wanted as a child was to experience love and attention from her. Instead, she treated him with forbidding disregard.

"That is not all," Christine cried, snapping him out of his reverie. "You insist on wearing your mask. _Why_? I have seen your face and I am not repulsed by what I see. Your face should not be hidden behind a mask, Erik," she emphasised her point by raising her hand to stroke the unmarred left side of his jaw.

Erik swallowed. "Christine, I have been hiding behind that mask my entire life."

"Stop hiding, Erik," she whispered, her eyes holding his, her gaze intense. "For me. I want to see who you really are, not what you want me to see."

Erik covered her hand with his own and promised that he would do his best.

"My mother never wanted to see my face," he spat resentfully before he could stop himself. "Why do you want to see mine?"

"Oh, poor, Erik. You act as though you are a cruel monster. It is more than your looks that are important; it is what lies beneath. I know who you are. You are a gentleman. You have taken the greatest care of me while I stayed with you, Erik. I know that you would not harm anyone without reason. I know you would not harm _me_."

Erik stared at her, not daring to believe her lovely, gentle words. Then she smiled at him, and as he kissed her forehead, she let out a sigh, ducking her head in a show of modesty.

Glancing up at him shyly from under her lashes, Christine caught him intently watching her reaction to the kiss. Before she could cover her nervous start by clasping her hands in his, Erik saw a trace of an emotion in her eyes he could not name. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the stars.

"What is that star?" she asked, releasing one of Erik's hands to point to the sky. Her eyes were slightly narrowed obviously to sharpen the image. It was then that Erik realised that she had imperfect eyesight. The fact made him love her that much more. No longer was she his flawless, unattainable angel, she was like him – human with flaws.

"It is Aldebaran It forms one of the eyes of the constellation Taurus. It is a beautiful story of how that bull got to be in the sky."

Erik then proceeded to relate the story of how Zeus fell in love with, and abducted the maiden Europa, who clung so trustingly to his back as he carried her across the Mediterranean Sea.

"When they reached Crete, he belatedly realised that he would not be able to marry her. She had three sons to Zeus and was crowned Queen of Crete. In memory of the love he had for her, he placed the white bull, which had spirited her away from her father in the heavens so that she may look up and remember him."

The irony of the story did not fail to escape Erik. He could not help but wonder how their story would end. Would they remain together or – more likely – would she be taken away by her childhood sweetheart and leave him, just as Zeus left Europa?

* * *

Erik's story was beautiful, haunting. Oh, poor Europa! To fall in love with a man, only to find you could not wed him...

Christine gave a dainty sniff, which caused Erik to glance down at her. Even in the darkness, he noticed the tears shining in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks. He raised his hand to her face and brushed them away. She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation of his hand caressing her face.

When Christine opened her eyes, Erik's beautiful amber eyes met hers. She was unable to tear her eyes away from his. She lost all sense of location and reality. The only thing she could think of was Erik, his hand on her face and his eyes. As he took a step towards her, Christine's hands gripped his arms, and she took a shaky breath. She closed her eyes, delighting in the feeling of his breath against her lips. His lips were so close. In his arms, she felt reckless. Boldly, she moved so that their lips would meet.

"You there!" a drunken voice yelled, causing Erik to pull away from her before she could have the pleasure of his lips on hers. "Wench! How long 'til yer free? I wouldn't minda chance to sample yer wares."

Christine gasped in horror at the man's crude proposition. She stared at him in silent indignation as she felt Erik stiffen before fixing the man with a formidable glare.

"How dare you talk to," he paused for the briefest moment, thinking, before continuing, "My wife in that way! I should kill you for your impertinence."

"Erik!"

"She can't be yer wife!"

Outraged, Erik advanced on the man.

"It ain't normal for a husban' to kiss 'is wife," he continued, unaware of Erik's fury.

Taking one final step, Erik punched him squarely in the jaw. Christine heard a sickening crack as he made contact. The man crumpled to the ground and lay there for a few moments.

"Go!" Erik ground out. "Get out of my sight before I kill you." He took a few more steps towards him.

The man stumbled to his feet and ran off, one hand clutching his face.

"Dearest, are you all right?" he asked, cupping my cheek. Christine managed a weak nod. "If I ever see that man again, I _will_ kill him."

His angry statement left her both shocked and comforted. She was terrified at the violent side he had revealed; he had always been such a gentleman around her, so kind and considerate. She knew he wouldn't kill without reason, but was a drunken man's mistake reason enough? Another part of Christine was flattered that he would do anything to ensure her wellbeing and happiness. That was the feminine part of her that loved all the attention he lavished.

"Erik, I am unharmed. Do not kill him," she pleaded for the man's life. "_Please_. I am fine."

He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips for a brief kiss.

"Very well, for you, I will not kill him."

Then, as calmly as you please, he offered his arm before suggesting they return home.

* * *

Karla quickly learnt not to hope too hard that Tristan would further the relationship they had started at the ball as Erik and Christine. In the time she had been working there, Tristan had been nothing but professional and never made any indication that he wanted to date her.

Philosophically accepting the stalemate she was at with her boss, Karla dedicated herself to assisting Tristan and her art. She now had just less than two weeks until the exhibition at the gallery and two paintings to finish in the meantime. That would not have been a problem if she wasn't working for Tristan de Valence. She just had to learn to balance her time carefully, skip a few classes at the gym and buy a very big light.

Karla handed Tristan the pile of papers and a cup of coffee with a small biscuit on the side of the saucer. She wanted to bring him 'round to her way of thinking that you can never have too much sweet food. She smiled brightly when she saw that he had noticed the biscuit.

Tristan glanced up at her, but did nothing more than raise a brow slightly.

Karla gritted her teeth at his lack of emotion. In the four weeks she had been working there, she could not – not once – remember him smiling at her or any of his other employees. She wanted to grab him by the lapels of his lovely designer coat and shake him and demand that he smile!

* * *

Karla stared forlornly at her paintings lining the walls of gallery. They were all the same. The subject was different in every painting; there were statues and the Houses of Parliament in London, bridges from Australia and San Francisco, Sea Lions of Singapore, windmills from Holland and buildings in New York. All places she had been with her father. Despite this, there was an underlying message of sadness portrayed through cloudy days or starless nights.

She hated to think what Tristan would have to say about her work. He was unafraid of voicing his opinion and from what she could gather, had excelled in art at school. She cursed the momentary insanity that had prompted her to invite him in the first place. Two days ago, she had entered Tristan's office and handed him an envelope and nervously chewed her lip as she watched him turn it over and break the seal.

"I'm having an exhibition on Friday night and showing my latest works. I'd like you to come. I'll have to swan and fluff all night, but we could always have a cup of coffee when it's over."

She smiled brilliantly at him when he had agreed to attend the exhibition.

"Miss Beaumont?" a woman called from behind Karla.

She turned around to see a woman she had never met before. Her eyes widened when she saw the critical way she was eyeing her paintings.

"I am Vanessa Wyatt." The woman offered her hand which Karla shook. "I write reviews on art for the paper. Your work is nice. I almost feel as if I am taking a tour of the world. Where did you get your inspiration?"

Karla winced at the use of the word 'nice', instantly taking a dislike to the darkhaired woman standing in front of her, her little tape recorder recording every word that was said. In her experience, 'nice' was a polite way of saying 'I don't like it.' That a critic was using the word made her panic.

"I toured the world with my father as a child and fell in love with the diverse architecture of the world. Everything I have painted I have seen for myself," Karla responded in her best attempt at a Victorian peeress.

"How interesting! You travelled with your father? What did he do?"

Karla was liking this woman less and less with each minute of the conversation. She was far too nosey. "My father is the late Charlie Beaumont, the tenor. Have you heard of him, Ms Wyatt?"

Vanessa shook her head, furious with herself that she had not done her research as thoroughly as she should have. If any of the other critics found out about her _faux pas_ she would be the laughingstock of Paris and lose all credibility and her reputation as one of the shrewdest critics.

Karla bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing at the other woman's annoyed expression. She may be able to criticise her artwork, but there was no way she would be able to criticise her connections.

"Please excuse me, Ms Wyatt. I see some of my patrons have arrived and I really should greet them."

She began to make her way towards Mya and Aleksandr when Tristan stepped in her path, with a glass of champagne for her.

"I thought you might need this," he said, offering her a glass. "I see you met the lovely Vanessa Wyatt."

"You know her?" Karla glanced up at him, shocked.

He shook his head. "Only of her. She is known for her sharp tongue and her ability to make or break a career."

Tristan watched as Karla's face fell. He could well imagine what she was thinking. She was aware that she was no longer going forward as an artist. The moment he had walked into the gallery, he saw that her paintings, although had different subject matter, all had the same emotion.

"You looked as though you were on a mission when I stopped you."

"I was," Karla agreed. "Come with me, and I'll introduce you to my friends." She grabbed his hand and dragged him to where Mya and Aleksandr were looking at a painting of Hyde Park Corner.

* * *

The next morning, Karla sat at the same table she and Tristan had sat at the night before as she read the reviews of her exhibition as she sipped her coffee. She had deliberately left Vanessa Wyatt's to last, but of the ones she had read, it did not bode well.

She opened the newspaper to the arts section and carefully read the article.

**_Local painter a great singer_**

_Karla Beaumont, known for her cityscapes of the world has been hiding two secrets from her public. The first is obvious to anyone who looks closely at her paintings of London, Sydney, Singapore and Europe. Beaumont has lost her direction. All her paintings are of dreary days of clouds and rain which leaves the viewer feeling depressed. _

_The greatest secret is that the 24-year-old is the daughter of Charlie Beaumont, the late Parisian tenor. Beaumont starred alongside her father in his tours from 1997. Her bell-like voice can be heard on the albums _As a Child _and_ Tenderness: Love Songs

_The move from singer to artist is a bold step for a young woman with such a talent for singing that is rarely seen nowadays. The question remains: _Why did Karla Beaumont give up singing to become a stuck artist?

Karla looked down at the paper, tears pooling in her eyes. It wasn't that she was trying to keep her father a secret; she just preferred to forget the promise she broke.

She looked up suddenly as another cappuccino was placed in front of her, and Tristan sat down, a macchiato in his hand. He took the paper from her numb fingers, closed it and threw it on the empty table next to them.

"I thought I might find you here. I read the reviews," he said as he pushed the coffee closer to her. "I didn't know your father was Charlie Beaumont."

Karla shrugged.

"Why?" Tristan asked simply.

Karla chewed her lip until it hurt. How could she tell him the truth of what happened to her? How could she tell him why she was now a struggling artist?

"Papa made me promise that I would go to the conservatory and become a singer. He wanted me to have all the success he had. That was what I wanted too. I wanted to be famous and have people stand for me at the end of every performance the way they did for my father.

"But when he died when I seventeen, I stopped singing; it reminded me too much of him. I have now lost my voice." She shrugged as if it no longer mattered to her.

"I decided to study art. I graduated and then realised I needed to start selling my paintings to pay my bills. It was a rainy day which reminded me of London." Her eyes took on a distant look as she recalled that day all those years ago. "I took my paintings to the markets and they sold. Needless to say, I kept with that theme.

"Now, I am stuck!" she said, disgusted with herself as she pushed her empty cup away from her. "I am stuck in a rut; I know it and all my critics know it! You saw it last night, didn't you?" she demanded when she saw his eyes soften the smallest amount in sympathy.

"Yes, I saw it. It is not as bad as you're making out. Your sales will probably increase now with everyone wanting to own a piece of Charlie Beaumont's daughter's work. Wyatt's just telling you that you need to find something different. She wouldn't have bothered if she didn't think your work was not worth it."

"What if they don't like what I paint?" Karla asked as she stared out into the rain.

"If you're showing them who you truly are, then they'll like it."

Karla considered Tristan's answer. She was stagnant and needed to find a way to go forward. If that meant changing her style and bearing her soul, then she'd have to do it. She shuddered as she imagined the reception she'd get at work tomorrow morning. The entire office would know about her; if they didn't, they would quickly find out.

Karla entered the office Monday morning with a headache. She had spent hours in bed trying to sleep. At two o'clock she abandoned the idea of sleep pulled out her sketchbook and began to sketch whatever came to mind. Five hours and numerous pages later Karla was no closer to finding something different to paint.

She made her way to the kitchen to make both herself and Tristan a coffee. There she was greeted by Justin and Vincent discussing Wyatt's review of Karla's exhibition. Karla raised her eyes and sighed. The men in the office were worse gossips than the women!

"I had no idea she was a singer and an artist!" Justin said.

"You have to wonder how bad her work is if she's lowered herself to being de Valence's PA," Vincent responded dryly. "We should go and look at her work sometime and see for ourselves."

"Karla could arrive any time now. Her reasons for working here are none of your business," Charlotte chastised the two men. She had been trying to ignore the two men, but decided she'd heard enough of their insults. "Vanessa Wyatt is a bitch. She never has anything good to say about any one. She hates anyone with an ounce of talent."

Karla had to smile at Charlotte's defence. She pointedly only greeted Charlotte, in her own way, indicating that she had heard the men gossiping about her. She made a cup of coffee for Tristan and herself. Karla decided that she would need a strong coffee to face the day as she added another spoon of coffee into her cup.

This behaviour continued for a few days with the office agog at having a celebrity in their midst. Thursday morning, Karla deposited Tristan's coffee on his desk and turned quickly to leave.

"Karla, sit down."

She slowly stepped away from the door to look nervously at him. Tristan had barely said two words to her all week. Judging from his expression, she was in for a stern lecture.

"How is your painting going?" he asked as he picked up his cup.

Karla could only stare at him for a few moments. The last thing she was expecting was Tristan to enquire after her art.

She shrugged. "I'm working on it. I thought I might try painting portraits." She offered a crooked, weak smile. "Either that or still life."

Tristan nodded wisely. He had seen the dark circles under Karla's eyes, her pale skin and the excess amount of coffee she had consumed over the past few days. It was clear that she was trying exceptionally hard to find her muse and find her quickly. It was also clear that she was not having any luck.

"I was thinking a break might help. Would you join me for a coffee and a tour of the Louvre Saturday afternoon?"

Karla felt like laughing. It sounded like Mr de Valence was asking her out. To top it off, he actually seemed nervous! Tristan, who refused to show any emotion, definitely sounded nervous!

"I would really like that," was out of Karla's mouth before she could think about the possible reasons why Tristan was taking such an interest in her painting abilities.

The afternoon was arranged and Karla went back to her desk, distracted and contemplative. She and Tristan were going on a date.

* * *

Mya and Karla toasted each other with their cocktails before taking a sip of the blended alcohol. It was Friday night and the two women were dressed for a night out. They had dinner planned after their drinks and then dancing.

"So, how is your painting going?" Mya asked.

How many times had people asked that question in the last few weeks?

She had seen a slight change in her friend over the past few weeks and was eager to hear her friend tell her what was going on. She had seen Vanessa Wyatt's review of Karla's exhibition and had received a call later that day and the two women had a good complaints session about the woman. At the time of the call, Karla seemed to almost have given up. Now her friend was thriving. She seemed to be more animated and confident when they met at the gym or coffee. It was the soft glow in her friend's eye that really piqued her curiosity.

Mya knew little about art. She did like her friend's painting; she loved to see different parts of the world. But Mya had always found it too depressing and sombre. She was secretly glad that she was being encouraged to try new avenues. Perhaps she would find inspiration to paint something completely different. Perhaps, Mya thought with a smile, a certain employer might just be that inspiration.

"I'm just experimenting at the moment," Karla responded noncommittally. "I'm just throwing paints together and picking colours I like. I'm hoping to find inspiration from the colours.

"I went to the Louvre last week. Tristan took me to look at the work their as inspiration. Then we went and had cake and coffee. I had to beg him to have a cake with me. And do you know how ate it? Vertically!" Karla gasped the answer without waiting for her friend to respond.

Karla recalled the day – less than a week ago – when she and Tristan had sat down at a café for afternoon tea, their feet sore having toured the art gallery for hours. It had taken her a few minutes of convincing, but she had managed to get Tristan to select a slice of cake from the cabinet for himself also. She watched in disappointment as Tristan continued to eat his cake vertically, taking both cake and icing. Karla had carefully cut her slice of cake in two, eating the bottom and saving the icing to last.

"You are eating it wrong!" she said with a smile in an attempt to get the unflappable Tristan to show some expression. She went on to explain how to 'properly' eat dessert. "That way, you save the best to last and finish content."

Mya laughed at the outraged expression on Karla's face. She was accustomed to her friend's odd eating habits, but could very easily imagine the man's surprise when told he ate his food the wrong way!

"So, you're seeing your boss?" Mya asked with a pleased smile. She knew the two of them were perfect for each other – that was evident the night they met and the way her friend secretly wanted to meet the Phantom again. She was surprised at her cunning – applying for the position in his office was a stroke of genius.

Karla bit into her lip at an unsuccessful attempt to prevent a smile. She nodded.

Mya smiled at her friend, delighted that she was seeing someone who she liked and obviously enjoyed spending time with.

"We're going out for lunch tomorrow and then dinner." She smiled softly to herself as she imagined how their date would turn out.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Mya demanded. Her frown quickly lightened to a smile as she continued, "I would have taken you clothes shopping."


	6. Coffee and Confessions

**Coffee and Confessions**

Karla returned from her lunch break ten minutes early, sipping the coffee she had brought back with her. She had just settled down at her desk when a pretty redhead left Tristan's office. The woman glanced at Karla in disinterest and left the office with a spring in her step.

Charlotte, one of Tristan's few female real estate agents and Karla's closest friend in the office came and sat on Karla's desk having noticed her disgusted expression.

"What was that?" Karla demanded, her nose screwed up in distaste.

"_That_ was Antoinette Bartholomew a dancer in the National Ballet."

"Is she…Is she dating Tristan?" Karla managed to ask without crying.

She and Tristan had gone out a few times. They never said anything was official, and never said they would not see other people, but she never expected him to flaunt the tart in front of her.

Charlotte shrugged. "I don't know. I think they went out for a while a few months ago. If they're an item, I couldn't say. Can I ask what this sudden interest is all about?"

"Oh! I'm still trying to figure out what makes Tristan tick," Karla responded lightly.

"Karla, I need you to courier a copy of the contract to the Davidsons straight away. Charlotte, don't you have any work to do?" Tristan asked curtly as he stood in the doorway watching the two women gossip.

Rolling her eyes behind her employer's back, Charlotte returned to her desk and her work. Karla arranged for the transportation of the documents and set about sorting the mail and typing up listings and contracts.

As closing time came and went, one by one, the other agents left, leaving Tristan and Karla alone in the office. Tristan made himself a coffee, expecting Karla to have already left. When he tried to order her home, Karla resisted, telling him she had work to do and wanted to talk to him before he left.

At six-thirty-seven, Tristan locked his office and sat down on the couch set next to Karla's desk.

"What is you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I was just… I… Who was that woman who was in here at lunch?" she asked in a rush as she neatly folded her hands together to stop them from trembling.

"I don't see that as any of your concern," Tristan countered, not showing a trace of emotion.

"It is damn well my concern if you are seeing her at the same time as you are seeing me, Tristan!" Karla snapped as she stood in her place, glaring down at him. The urge to cry overwhelmed her as she stared at his hard face.

All she wanted was some evidence that he took their relationship seriously. She had the right to know if he thought of her as a passing interest or if he saw her as something a bit more serious.

"Don't be ridiculous, Karla! We have been out only three times; that is hardly enough time to commit solely to one person." Karla opened her mouth to protest, but Tristan continued. "Do not think I haven't seen you looking at any remotely good looking man who walks by. It is a wonder that you do throw yourself at him."

Tristan was reminded of his parents. They were always arguing about the other's wandering eyes. It seemed as if history was repeating itself.

Karla hid her face and blinked away the tears. She tried to defend herself in a little voice. "I do not look-"

The door slammed shut. Tristan walked quickly down the road to his car.

* * *

Saturday morning, Tristan made himself a cup of coffee, still furious at Karla's demanding questions. He recalled the tears shining in her eyes as he accused her of staring at men while he was with her. No man wanted his girlfriend to look anywhere but him. 

Perhaps he had over-reacted at Karla's innocent question. However, anyone who knew of his childhood and his parents would understand reaction. He had spent his entire life looking for the exact opposite of his parents' relationship. He often felt that they were so busy trying to hurt each other that they forgot they had a son.

You would think they were married the way she was carrying on. No, they had been on a total of three dates and already she was demanding he tell her every aspect of his life!

The day seemed to drag for Tristan. He had been for his fortnightly run with Tom and was now faced the entire day ahead of him with nothing to do. He read the paper, picked up a few groceries and ran through the park again in the late afternoon. He was considering what to make for dinner when he recalled that he and Karla had very tentatively arranged dinner for that weekend.

He glanced at the phone, debating whether he should call her or not. In the end, he warmed a quiche he bought from the bakery earlier that day and sat down in front of the computer.

* * *

Sunday night Karla curled up in bed, disappointed with Tristan. He said he would call and arrange dinner. She could hardly blame him for not calling after the way they had left the office on Friday night. 

Karla spent most of the weekend painting. She had her exhibition on Friday and she still had a few painting to finish. For the first time in a while, she was pleased her mood matched her sombre painting.

Mya had called and the two went out for a coffee Saturday afternoon, but other than that Karla spent the entire weekend alone. Typically she would enjoy the solitude, but for some reason, it upset her this weekend.

* * *

Christine closed the door and collapsed against it as she took a deep breath. The performance had, yet again been a success and two ovations later, she was certain she would not be able to sing another note. She sat down on the lounge and pulled her shoes and wig off, knowing a few minutes peace before her maid came bursting in to undress her. 

"Christine!" Raoul's voice sounded through the door a moment before he pushed it open.

Wrapping herself in a silk robe, Christine turned around and smiled at him.

"You were amazing tonight, Christine," he said as he caught her hand and carried it to his lips. "You were a goddess! I would like to take you to dinner; dinner, champagne and a drive through the Bois."

Christine wrung her hands as she considered his offer. "It is very tempting…"

"I will return in fifteen minutes, then!"

Twenty-five minutes later, Raoul was handing Christine up into his carriage before settling down next to her. Again, he took her hand and removed her gloves before trailing kisses over the back of her hand, her palm and her wrist.

Christine sat wrapped in Raoul's arms as he drove her to Mama Valérius' house. She sighed contentedly as she moved deeper into his embrace. Raoul had been so sweet and charming all night she could feel herself falling in love with him all over again. She could easily imagine her life with him. A vicomtesse, married to a peer of the realm, surrounded by wealth, beauty and happiness.

* * *

After a few days of strained distance, Tristan invited Karla to join him for lunch at the local café. Karla had cautiously accepted his offer and was later thankful that she had. Lunch – and their fourth unofficial date – was better than she could have hoped. 

Tristan entertained her with tales of the trouble he and his friends would get themselves into in school. Karla found herself dissolving into uncontrollable fits of giggles aided by her cappuccino. Caffeine rarely went to her head, but with Tristan in such an agreeable mood, she could not help herself.

Tristan watched Karla carefully. He had never heard her laugh so freely and found her laughter infectious. He resisted the urge to smile at her amusement and childlike appearance. When he first saw her, he thought her pretty. But now that he had seen her so relaxed and carefree she was positively radiant. He would be a fool to let her go.

Karla sighed. "You are so lucky to have such a normal childhood. I never went to school."

Tristan looked at her with wide eyes.

She giggled at his expression. "I toured the world with my father and had a tutor who came with us. I did give her a hard time (which I now regret) but I never had the opportunity to get into the mischief you did."

"I doubt you could ever do anything wrong."

His comment was said so solemnly that Karla broke down into giggles again. "Marianne would not see it that way."

They walked slowly back to the office, still sharing stories of the way they made their teachers' lives difficult. Tristan paused at the door to the office and fixed Karla with a severe look. The smile quickly faded from her face.

"I think you should take the afternoon off and go home. You are a giggling mess; I do not think you will get much work done." His hand briefly rose to her face and tucked her hair behind her ear and lingered on her cheek. "I just hope I can cope without you for an afternoon."

* * *

It was decided that in order to make up for their failed dinner Tristan and Karla would have dinner together after work on Friday. Not only was Karla having dinner with Tristan, he was cooking. She had been feeling a sense of anticipation all day; Mya had even helped her pick out a new outfit for the night. 

Karla walked into Tristan's office with a letter he needed to sign before she could post. She sank down into the spare chair while he scanned the letter. In an effort to keep the peace, Karla had brought in a plate of biscuits which seemed to remain untouched. Tristan glanced up and saw her eyeing the plate.

"Have one." He offered her the plate and waited for Karla to pick a biscuit before taking one for himself.

Karla smiled and returned to her desk, the special biscuit in her fingers.

A little before four, Karla transferred a call into Tristan. She thought nothing of it, but when Tristan called her into his office fifteen minutes later she immediately knew something was wrong. His tie was up at his collar and his sleeves were carefully buttoned at his wrists. He was going out.

"I have to cancel dinner." He wasted no time in sharing his unpleasant news. He wanted to get Karla's unpleasant reaction over as quickly as possible.

Karla looked up at him in a combination of surprise and disappointment. "Because of Scott Roberts-Whatever?"

"Roberts-Proctor, yes. He has found a house just outside of Paris he likes; he seems very eager to look at it."

Karla felt her excitement die. Her special dinner with Tristan was cancelled for the second time. They were _really_ trying to make the relationship thing work but they did not seem to be getting anywhere.

"Work has to come first. I understand if you want to cancel our dinner."

Tristan had noted Karla's positive mood and knew instinctively that the dinner he planned to cook for her was the reason. It was wonderful to know that she looked forward to spending time with him. He felt horrible that he had to postpone their dinner because of work, but Scott was very close to signing the contract. Tristan did not want to miss the opportunity.

As the tears of disappointment trickled down her cheeks, Tristan jumped to his feet and turned his back on her. He was filled with guilt; he did not need Karla to make him feel any worse. Or to try and convince him to change his mind.

"For crying out loud, woman, don't think for a moment a few tears are going to get you your own way!"

"Is that what you think?" she sniffed. "Do you think I'm crying to make you feel bad about cancelling dinner? I am not that kind of woman, Tristan." She stood up and attempted to glare down indignantly at him. "I would like to know who gave you the impression that all women are like that, but she was-"

The rest of the statement was cut off as Tristan grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down in her chair again.

"Be quiet, Karla! Do you really want to know who gave me the impression that women are manipulative creatures who are not afraid to cry or throw a tantrum to get their own way? Do you? The woman was my mother!

"You see, my father was never faithful to my mother."

"Tristan, I'm not-"

"You wanted to know, you're going to listen! He went off and had numerous affairs over the course of my parents' marriage. When my mother found out she did everything to make him stop. She would scream and throw things at him but that only sent him off to the other woman faster." He closed his eyes, trying to block the images from his childhood. "She would cry for hours, and he would stay until she was asleep. Then, he would go off to his mistress.

"When my mother realised that he did not stay with her then entire night, she went off and conducted her own affairs with young men as revenge."

Tristan turned around and stared at a picture on the wall. He had seen the compassion in Karla's eyes and could not stand it.

"As if that was not enough, the woman I thought I loved regularly used the same tactics on me. What a fool I was; twenty and convinced that she loved me! I was going to ask her to marry me," Tristan added softly to himself.

"It took me three years to figure out she was just like my mother." He stared at Karla trying to determine if there were any similarities between her and his mother and his first infatuation. "If I ever told her I would be home late she would cry and work herself into a fit. The only way I could get her to stop was if I promised to not work late.

"So, forgive me if I do not find your tears convincing or live up to your expectations, Karla. I think given my upbringing and history, it might be justified."

"Tristan, I am not like that. I was just shocked; I have been looking forward to our dinner all day."

Tristan nodded. "I know. I'm sorry, but I have to cancel."

When Tristan picked up his briefcase and turned to stalk out the door, Karla called his name. Tristan stopped and spun around to her, his face carefully composed. Since everything was now coming out into the open, it seemed appropriate to ask the question that had been annoying her for weeks.

"Is there a reason you do not show any emotion?" Karla bit her lip as she reviewed the blunt way she had phrased the question.

"Yes, there is a reason."

"It's just that you do not seem to feel anything. I have never seen you smile or show any form of emotion whatsoever."

Tristan felt his heart constrict at Karla's words. She thought he did not feel emotion. He felt the anger, joy and concern all too clearly. He felt himself drifting back into his dark childhood and was unable to shake off the thoughts of his father.

"That's not true," he muttered softly as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Why do you not show any emotion?" Karla persisted as she perched on the edge of her desk and reached out to him. Her hands were inches from his when they fell to her lap. She could feel him putting up the walls and defences to keep her from finding too much about him and was determined to prevent them from going up. "Did someone tell you not to?"

Tristan nodded. The conversation between eight-year-old Tristan and his father came out in a rush. "I was in my room crying because of yet another argument my parents were having. My father came upstairs and knocked on the door. I had heard a car drive off and thought he'd gone out. When I opened the door, I'd expected my mother to be standing there, ready to comfort me.

"My father saw that I had been crying and was furious. He told me that tears were only for women. He told me that men did not show their emotions and that whatever I felt stayed on the inside because what I was feeling was nobody's business. So at eight, I learnt how to hide my feelings."

Karla stared up at Tristan with tears in her eyes. His eyes were glassy as he gazed at something in the distance, unaware of Karla's saddened expression. His childhood was so different to hers, and she was reminded yet again of how different they were.

Karla grabbed his hand and held it tightly in her own as she caressed his cheek and the corner of his mouth with the other. She bit her lip to keep from crying out when he quickly stepped away from her touch.

"Your father's wrong, Tristan. There is _nothing_ wrong with showing what you are feeling. It is not right that you have kept everything to yourself for so long. Please, forget what your father told you and show your emotions. You need to smile more."

"What I feel is nobody's business," Tristan repeated the words he had heard his entire life, and until now had believed. Perhaps Karla was right. Perhaps it was normal to show his emotion and was not a sign of weakness.

Karla stared at him for a moment, speechless. Her eyes were unfocused with unshed tears. She had no idea what to say to the story of his childhood. It was little wonder he was so sombre and unmoved by displays of emotion.

"What you feel is very much my business and all the other people who care about you."

Tristan ran his hand through his hair as he tried to control his emotions. He had spent much of his life trying to repress his unpleasant childhood. He knew that in a few days he would be thankful of Karla's persistence and the way she made him face his past. But at the moment he just wanted to get away and lose himself in his work.

She returned to the chair and offered him a shaky smile. "Since you have to work tonight, could we reschedule dinner to tomorrow night?"

Tristan nodded. He had not scared her away as he thought he might. He pulled one of her hands into his and clutched it in his for a few moments, his amber eyes holding hers. He squeezed her hand briefly before leaving for his appointment.


	7. Journey to the Past

**Journey to the Past**

Karla gazed up at the ceiling of the opera house with its massive chandelier, around at the rich red curtains delighting in the grandeur of the auditorium. Never had she ever performed in any venue as opulent as this!

Following the blow up over his past, Tristan and Karla reached a new understanding. They had been officially dating for two months and thus far into their relationship, they had been to dinner, lunch, movies, art galleries and dancing. Before the opera, Tristan had taken her to a nearby restaurant along with numerous other couples who were obviously also going to the opera.

The music held Karla entranced as she watched the performance, unable to take her eyes from the stage. She sniffed back the tears that threatened to fall as she watched the drama unfold before her.

Tristan had been watching Karla throughout the first three acts, unable to comprehend the Italian, and much preferring to watch the woman who sat at his side. He had never known another to have such a love of music and performing, and could be moved so deeply by something as simple as the play before him.

He squeezed her hand as a silent reassurance that it was only fiction. Karla turned and fixed Tristan with a teary smile before returning the pressure and placing their joined hands in her lap.

The curtains fell at the end of the act and rising together, Karla and Tristan made their way to the marble column that divided the boxes. Tristan pressed the lever that released the secret door.

An unseen force was pulling them inexorably down the dark, winding tunnel. The tunnel was covered in an eerie darkness, and yet they were able to find their way down without injury. The force continued to beckon them, drawing them deeper into the opera house, until they were standing in a drawing room with elegant furniture, now covered with dust.

Karla glanced at Tristan uncertainly, before she realised just _what_ had happened. She returned to the door they had just walked through to find it was locked. Panicking, she began to press against the doors, hoping to find a way out. Exhausted and embarrassed from her outburst, she sat down on the dusty settee and looked at Tristan.

"What do we do?" she asked with a yawn.

"You, go to bed. There is a bedroom just through that room." He indicated the closed door with an incline of his head. Tristan had taken the opportunity to explore his surroundings during Karla's excessive display of emotion. "That is the only bedroom."

"Oh." Karla glanced at the settee. Tristan was far too tall to fit on such a small and uncomfortable looking piece of furniture. "I'm sure we can sleep in the same bed."

Karla toed her shoes off and slipped under the covers and turned her back on Tristan. She could hear him removing his shoes, coat and tie and felt the bed dip beneath his weight. She forced herself to close her eyes and drift off to sleep.

* * *

Karla awoke the next morning to find Tristan gone from the bed, and pacing the room. She looked at him for a few moments before she realised that it was indeed reality and not part of the dream she had just been having. He was no longer dressed in his black trousers and blue shirt, but narrow grey trousers with double-breasted frock coat and bowtie. 

The only logical reason her mind could come up with was that something had happened to the clothing he wore the night before and this was all he could find. Even as she thought it, her mind rejected the idea.

"Tristan?" she asked uncertainly.

He looked up, his surprise at seeing her awake not showing. "Don't ask. My clothes are gone, and so are yours."

"What?" she cried, as she flung the sheets off and jumped out of bed to rummage around the room quickly. "Where are they?"

Tristan shrugged. "I don't know. They were gone when I woke. Everything seems to be in its place, so we can rule out theft. I think, Karla that we are in the time of Dickens."

Karla scoffed at him. "We're back in time?"

"Can you think of any other reason?"

"Hallucinogens? An over-active imagination?"

Tristan sighed softly as he walked out of the room, ordering her to dress.

Karla glared at the door for a minute before she crossed to the wardrobe and picked out a chemise and a skirt and jacket in red. She was relieved that she was able to button the clothes herself; she would _not_ ask Tristan for help. She pulled on silk stocking and slippers before going in search of Tristan.

Less than ten minutes later, Karla and Tristan had quickly learnt that going out grocery shopping in nineteenth century Paris was a foolish idea for two people who knew very little about the society. They had made it as far as Rue Scribe, when a woman screamed and collapsed into the arms of her gentleman companion. There were numerous people opening staring at them, their faces as pale.

"Look at the monster, Papa!" a young boy cried. He threw a stone across the street at Tristan.

Karla looked on in horror as people continued to insult him. Tristan did nothing. His face was as hard and unyielding as ever, yet he did not yell at them.

"Hussy!" a pretty lady walking behind them whispered loudly to her friend. "Walking outside with no hat and no corset!"

"We should be thankful she is wearing gloves! She must be from the England!" her friend responded, her nose wrinkled with disgust.

"Tristan," Karla pulled him to a stop and waited for the women to pass. They did so, but not without pulling out their smelling salts when they saw Tristan's face. "We have to go back to the Opera House; it's not safe for us here until we learn how to fit in."

Karla had expected him to protest, but he quickly retraced their steps, sighing when he heard the lock of the gate click shut. It would be a while until they ventured out onto the streets of Paris without a mask, hat and corset.

* * *

"Christine, where have you been?" Meg demanded as she rushed up the brunette during a rest in the rehearsal. "You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!" 

"I am sorry, I forgot," Karla responded lamely. She did not know who the pretty little ballerina was.

"I do hope you have warmed your voice. We are almost to begin rehearsing your aria."

"My aria?" Karla gasped, horrified at the thought of having to perform.

"Meg Giry!" Madame Giry snapped at her daughter. "Come and lead your line!"

Karla watched the other woman rush off to lead her line. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse. It was one thing to be transported back in time by some form of magic, but it was another thing to have to perform for the first time in six years. She knew very little of the customs and what was expected of her in this period.

Meg Giry, though, had confirmed her theory which she had described to Tristan the night before as she passed the time playing the piano. She was now certain they were living the life out of _The Phantom of the Opera._ She had always thought the book to be nothing but fiction, but now she knew better.

"Miss Daaé!" the conductor shouted at her for the third time to capture her attention. A few of the ballet rats laughed at her inattentiveness. "If you please, open your music to page five, and we will begin."

Karla glanced around wildly in an attempt to locate a score. "I- I do not have my music with me, sir."

The man clenched his jaw angrily. "We have wasted enough time because of your tardiness. You will do well enough without it."

She knew a moment of panic. When she heard the introduction however, she calmed. This was a song she sang with her father many times. She would never need the music for this song!

Karla drew a deep breath as she waited for her cue, knowing that, as Christine she had no choice but to sing. She opened her mouth. She could feel her throat constricting, preventing the note that she was to sing. All she could think about was her father and how she had failed him.

She looked around at the curious musicians and dancers. They were intrigued as to why the great Daaé missed her cue. Unable to stand their curiosity a moment longer, Karla spun around and dramatically ran from the stage. The last thing she heard was a round of laughter as she tripped on the hem on her skirt as she ducked behind the wings.

* * *

While Karla was at the rehearsal, Tristan took the opportunity to explore the house that was his home until whatever entity brought them here decided it was time to return them to the twenty-first century. 

He entered the second bedroom and stood in the doorway, disgusted. A large coffin and organ took up most of the space in the room. The red curtains covered in _Dies Irae_ were haunting. What did capture his attention was the black wood chest at the end of the coffin.

Tristan pulled the stool over, and began to sort his way through the contents of the chest. In it were hundreds of sketches and pasteboard paintings of Karla – Christine – and painting supplies. A series of small journals bound in maroon leather seemed out of place.

They were Erik's journals. Tristan laughed to himself, Karla's creative mind was starting to have an effect on him. There was no Phantom of the Opera.

Despite that, he took the books to the drawing room and opened it at the beginning. The first page was dated 1879 and continued up until the date on Saturday in 1881. The entries fascinated Tristan to no end. In it were details of Christine and the Phantom's first meeting, their singing lessons and the times they spent together.

The more Tristan read, the more he was reluctantly convinced he was now the Phantom of the Opera, living in the unwritten book.

* * *

Karla slammed her hands down onto the keys of the piano, causing a dissonant chord. She sighed angrily as she closed the lid and began to pace. She sat down only to jump up a minute later, collect her cloak, gloves and hat and head for the streets of Paris. As she wandered the streets, gas lights cast an eerie glow, providing light to objects directly under it. 

Tristan was reading the silly journals and had been doing so for the past three days, and was probably unaware that she had left. The only time he looked up from the books was to arrange dinner and when Karla insisted very forcefully that he write a letter to Madame Giry, telling her that Christine Daaé could not sing.

"As far as everyone else is concerned, you are the Opera Ghost!" Karla had snapped at him. "I cannot sing; I haven't done so in years. You have to leave a letter in the box saying that I am not to sing in the opera."

Tristan had grudgingly written the letter and left it on the shelf in Box Five. He returned from his journey up to the Opera House and immediately began to lecture Karla.

"You need to sing again, Karla. I know you are an exceptionally brilliant singer, and from what I can gather, you used to enjoy it. It is foolish for you to refuse to sing because of your father's death." He held up a placating hand when Karla opened her mouth to give him a set down he would not forget.

"You have been a stuck artist for the last few months, but you are finding the courage to expose yourself again and paint something new and different." Karla nodded. "It isn't easy what you are doing; I'm proud of the effort you have been putting into your painting the last month."

"I need to take up singing again and find myself?" Karla asked as her teeth bit into her lip. Tristan's championing of her was a surprise, so was his insight.

Could she take his advice and do as he suggested? Every time she opened her mouth to sing, she saw her father and recalled her promise she made as a naïve girl and broke. She could do it. But when would she find the courage to do so?

She had made it only several blocks along the Avenue de L'Opéra when she heard her name being called. She looked up to see Raoul stepping out of his carriage.

Karla rolled her eyes at the young man's unwavering attentions.

"What are you doing walking these streets by yourself, Christine? It is fortunate I happened along when I did, who knows what kind of event may have befallen you!"

"I was just taking some air," Karla responded as pleasantly as possible. "I should be returning back to the Opera House."

"I will escort you."

Raoul would not hear of Christine walking in the dark. So, he handed her up into his carriage and settled opposite her. They spoke for a few minutes and Karla could see how the young Christine could find the peer so attractive. He had a wonderfully gentle voice and a brilliant smile that you were forced to return.

Karla made her way back down to the lake, in a worse mood than she was when she set off.

* * *

Karla was once again playing aimlessly on the piano when Tristan stepped out of the horrid room. His eyes glowed with excitement. He was wearing his cloak and was tugging on a pair of black gloves when he instructed her to collect her own hat, gloves and cloak as they were going for a walk. When Karla returned a moment later, wearing a deep green cloak, matching hat and tan gloves, she noticed that he was wearing the white mask he hated so much. Although Tristan looked the same as he would in two hundred years, no one else saw the handsome man. It seemed he had learnt his lesson never to go out in public unless he was fully dressed. 

She slipped her arm through his as they walked along the cobblestone streets to hail a carriage to take them to the Bois de Boulogne. When they arrived, Tristan informed the driver that if he wished to earn himself an extra thirty francs, he had best return in exactly one hour. This man's eyes widened at the large sum and be began to mumble incoherently.

Tristan pulled Karla's arm through his as he led her along the lake that shone in the setting sun. They spent the next hour wandering contentedly wandering through the trees and gardens watching children playing in the amusement park and married couples sitting down to an early dinner.

"Does the Boulogne look like this at home?" Karla asked Tristan as she gazed at the theatre in amazement. "It is so beautiful it would be a pity if they changed it."

Tristan smiled at her reaction. He found Karla's ignorance of the city she had spent most of her life puzzling. His mind spun at the possibilities of unique dates if they returned to their time.

* * *

Karla allowed the note addressed to Raoul to flutter down onto the pavement at the Opera House, hoping he would receive it. She had been living in nineteenth century Paris for close to two months and she had come to the realisation that Christine and Raoul were obviously lovers and very much wanted to be together. 

But why would she and Tristan have been sent back in time if everything ended as it was supposed to? After considering the two men who clearly loved Christine, Karla decided that things obviously _hadn't_ ended the way they were supposed to.

As a nineteenth century chorus girl, Christine would take whatever financial comfort was offered, especially if it was offered in the form of a young aristocrat. Obviously, Christine had made the wrong choice and was now being given another opportunity to take love.

It had been years since she had read Leroux's book in school. All she remembered was the Phantom locking Christine's lover in the mirrored room, then he changed his mind and let Christine go. Was that not how the book was supposed to end?

When Karla considered the too presumptive way Raoul behaved towards her, she decided that she could never be content with living for the rest of her life with such a man. Tristan obviously was not the same as the Phantom, yet she could easily imagine either herself or Christine living with him.

It was never Karla's intention to mislead Raoul into thinking that she or Christine was in love with him and wanted to run away with him. Karla had spent weeks confused by her emotions and the ones Christine obviously felt towards the man.

Karla swore she would never do anything to hurt Tristan the way his parents had hurt him, yet by organising this meeting, she was dangerously close to breaking that promise. She dared not imagine how the Phantom would react if he found out Christine was arranging an assignation with his rival.

When Karla saw Raoul at the Bois that night, and heard him call out, she realised then that he was still in love with Christine, despite the cool reception she had been treating him to. Raoul would not let her go; he would do anything he could to have her as his wife.

Tristan being terribly jealous had closed the window with a _snap_ and ordered the driver to go faster. Given his childhood, it made sense. Karla felt for certain they would overturn as they quickly rounded a corner! Not knowing how Tristan would react when they returned to the house on the lake, that Karla immediately ran to the safety of her bedroom.

Karla found Raoul wearing a white domino, waiting for her at the appointed time and she led him away from the crowds. As we were leaving, she caught a glimpse of Red Death. Christine knew that it was Tristan and, recalling the scene from the book, began to fear for his life. She began to drag him away faster.

"Raoul, we can't go back there!" she cried as he tried to follow Red Death. "If you love me, you will not go. Stay out of this, Raoul! The less you know, the safer you will be. I have come to warn you to forget about me. My heart is no longer yours; you must let me go. I do not love you."

He grabbed her hand and clutched it to his heart. Karla could see the tears glistening in his eyes, and she could feel her heart break at her cruel kindness. She was doing this to save him. She was here to change the way history played out, and she was going to do her best to make sure that events unfolded correctly this time!

Raoul began to place kisses over her palm and would have continued had she not pulled her hand away.

"Good bye," Karla cried as she turned her back on him and made her way to her dressing room where Tristan was waiting for her.

* * *

When Karla joined Tristan in the drawing room of Erik's house on the lake before the performance one night, he was overcome by a wave of possessiveness he had never before felt. He planned, in full Phantom style, to watch the performance from the best seats in the house. 

She had changed into a dress that the Phantom had recently bought Christine. Tristan could feel himself drowning in her beauty. The dark blue striped cuirasse bodice accentuated her little waist while the straight skirt made her appear thinner than she was.

He stood as she entered the room, and now he was making his across the room and pulling her into his arms and crushing her tiny body against his. Tristan ran his hand down her cheek and gently grasped her chin to look into her eyes. Her eyes were shining with what Tristan wanted to believe was desire.

Certain she would not slap him, or accuse him of taking advantage of her, Tristan removed the mask and cupped her face in his hands before kissing her lips. When he felt her surrender, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, increasing the caress with a fiery urgency.

With her in his arms, her body pressed against his own from breast to thigh, Tristan knew that he would never be able to let her leave. He would never be content with a single kiss. Whatever had happened in the past, and whatever would happen in the future, he had to have Karla by his side.

With a little sigh, Karla was wrapping her arms about Tristan's neck and responding with a passion equal to his own. One of her hands remained at Tristan's neck while the other moved to stroke his face. Surprised, he jerked his head back to stare at her flushed face.

"Oh, I had been hoping for so long that you would do that," she sighed as her body relaxed further against his.

For some reason, as if sensing the restrictive rules placed on unmarried couples, Tristan had not kissed her since they arrived in the late nineteenth century. When their lips finally did touch for the first time in months, Karla's lips immediately softened under his.

Instead of kissing her lips, as he knew she wanted him to, Tristan began to trail kisses along her jaw.

"Tristan," she sighed as he began to kiss her neck and along her collarbone.

Tristan's lips found hers again. Dragging him into the Louis-Philippe room, Karla kissed the right side of his face which had recently been covered by the mask.

Tristan began to remove her clothing, swearing when he had trouble untying her corset. Pushing his hands out of the way, Karla untied the bow and allowed him to loosen the ties and throw the offending item across the room.

Clutching his shoulders, Karla collapsed against his chest, drawing a deep breath before pushing his coat off his shoulders. When they were both naked, Tristan scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Hours later Karla lay sleeping in Tristan's arms, their legs and fingers entwined, the opera forgotten.


	8. Truths and Travels

**Truths and Travels**

Karla and Tristan awoke, their fingers still entwined. It took a minute for them to realised they were no longer in the Louis-Philippe room; instead, they were sitting in their box at the opera, watching the curtain close on the third act.

"Tristan?" Karla asked nervously as she looked up into his confused face. "What just happened?"

He shook his head. "We clearly achieved whatever it was that we needed to do for the Phantom and Christine."

"But everything stayed still here!" Karla pointed out as she rose from her chair and began to pace. "We _did_ go back in time, didn't we? I didn't imagine it?"

Tristan glared at her as he stood in front of her, preventing her agitated pacing. "We went back in time, Karla!"

"But…"

He grabbed her shoulders. "We made love didn't we? Are you telling me that wasn't real? I remember, and know that was _very_ real." Tristan watched as Karla chewed her lip remembered their time spent together in Christine's bed the night before – over a century ago.

Raising his brow in frustration at her confusion, Tristan pushed the lever that opened the hidden panel in the column and began to descend down the dark corridor down to where they had spent two months in the past.

"Tristan, what are you doing?" Karla demanded as she rushed after him, clutching his hand tightly.

* * *

Erik smiled smugly to himself as he watched the couple walking hand in hand down to his house on the lake. He knew what the man was after, and decided it was the least he could do to repay them for what they had done for him and Christine. 

He recalled waking one morning in Christine's bed, with her head on his chest and his arms possessively around her waist. They were both undressed.

Christine had missed her monthly flow.

* * *

Karla sat at the table in the corner of the bar where she had arranged to meet Tristan after work. She sat sipping a soft drink as she glanced around at the patrons. Tristan had called to tell her he had been held up at work, he promised he would be there by half-past. Karla looked down at her watch. He had seven minutes.

"Is that a mirror in your pocket?"

Karla glanced up and stared at the owner of the faintly slurred voice. The man had sandy blonde hair and was casually dressed in a shirt and jeans. She raised her brow in a perfect imitation of Tristan before turning her attention back to the doorway to watch for Tristan.

Not to be deterred, the man continued, "'Cause I can see myself in your pants."

Karla rolled her eyes at the seedy pick-up line, wondering what book he got it from. "I'm waiting for my _boyfriend_. He should be here any minute."

"I'll keep you company while you wait, then. I'm Tony." He held out his hand for Karla to take.

"You really don't have to do that," Karla tried to get rid of the man again.

Tony shrugged and slid into the stool opposite.

Karla kept her focus on the entrance and smiled when she saw Tristan enter. He was dressed as he typically was, he tie loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Karla felt her breathing quicken at the sight of the gorgeous man she was dating.

She smiled softly when his eyes found hers across the room. He was heading straight for the table she was unfortunately sharing with Tony when he was stopped.

"Tristan de Valence, right? My name is Ryan Stanton; I bought a property a few years ago from your company. I am interested in joining your team and was wondering if you were hiring at the moment?"

Tristan shifted his attention from Ryan to Karla. She was sitting with a relatively handsome man – if you went for blondes, and he didn't think Karla did. The sight of her in the company of a man who was not himself filled him with rage. He wanted to walk out. But, at the same time, he wanted to walk up to her and either drag her away or beat the guy.

"We are always interested in employing new agents," Tristan responded noncommittally as he stepped past Ryan.

Karla saw Tristan watching her intently as he crossed the room, his eyes had darked with anger as he regarded the drunk at the table with her. She bit into her lip.

"Karla, what-"

"You're late," she said with a pout as she slid off the stool and into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. She stepped away and sat down before introducing him to Tony. "He was just keeping me company while I waited for you. Thank you for doing that, but as you can see, I'm no longer alone," Karla addressed the last part to her intoxicated companion.

"Are you sure you want me to leave you, I mean-"

"The lady has asked that you leave her alone," Tristan said in his coldest voice as he stood over the other man. "A gentleman would honour her request. _Leave_."

Tristan watched him go before turning back to Karla. He shook his head at his choice of words. It seemed as if the Phantom had rubbed off on him during his time in the past. However, judging by the way Karla hugged him tightly it was the correct choice.

* * *

Drinks and dinner that night seemed to be a turning point in their relationship. After work most nights, Tristan would join Karla in her little apartment for dinner, then, with a lingering kiss, leave for his studio. The weekends were typically spent together. Given the amount of time Tristan spent at Karla's, it seemed fitting that for their anniversary she gave him his own key. 

Karla was painting on a Saturday afternoon when Tristan paused in the doorway and knocked on the jam to get her attention. She smiled at him as she put down her palette and brush and joined him in the kitchen.

Tristan had always respected her request that he never enter her studio unless invited. She did not like the idea of someone seeing her work unfinished and criticising her, thinking incorrectly that it was complete. Until she met Tristan, she had never had anyone to show her work to and have it critiqued fairly. Of course, there was Mya, but the boutique owner did not have an eye for art and thought all her paintings looked 'pretty, but dull'.

"I have to go away for a few weeks," Tristan began, desperate to get this announcement over and done with. He and Karla had not been away from each other for a period longer than a day. This would be a very significant step in their relationship – at least as far as Tristan was concerned.

"Why?"

"I'm going to London on business. I want to extend de Valence Realty to London, then eventually all over England. I have a few contacts that I wanted to meet with and get the venture started."

"I see."

Tristan stared at her for a moment, unable to comprehend her reaction. He was convinced she was holding back something from him – whether it was despair or delight, he didn't know. He had images of her and numerous other men together while he was away. A woman like his mother would use this as an excuse.

"_I see_. Is that all you are going to say?"

Karla shrugged as she turned away so he would not see the tears in her eyes. He had never told her of his plans to franchise his business. Everything seemed to be going so well between them – she should have known better.

She looked up at Tristan to see a muscle in his jaw ticking. He was furious with her lack of reaction. She turned to walk away to prevent the fight.

"Dammit, Karla!" He grabbed her upper arm and spun her around to look at him. The anger flashing in her eyes caused him to step back. "Why can you not accept that I am trying to expand my business and make an international name for myself?"

Karla refused to answer. She was likely to regret anything that came out of her mouth.

"Do you have a problem with the fact that I am excelling at what I do, while you are nothing but a struggling artist who has no idea what she is supposed to be painting? Now that you don't have your singing, you have nothing."

Karla gripped the bench to prevent from collapsing at Tristan's hurtful words. Never had she imagined he could be so cruel or that he would betray her deepest secrets in such a fashion.

"_Get out_." The words were said softly, but a barely contained fury charged the air.

Tristan took one look at her expression, grabbed his coat and keys and left.

Hours after the argument, Karla lay in bed crying. She had kicked Tristan out and had no idea where he was. _She didn't care,_ she told herself. But that was a lie. Everything he said to her was the truth. She didn't know what she was supposed to be painting. She was no longer selling as many paintings as she did a few years ago. She was more successful as the teenage girl who sang with her father.

She curled deeper under the covers and ordered herself to sleep.

Karla felt the covers move and the bed shift beneath her. She was reaching for her lamp when she felt a gentle arm wrap around her waist.

"I'm sorry. God, Karla, I am so sorry," Tristan whispered softly in her ear. "I shouldn't have said a single word I did."

"You were right though," Karla conceded as she pulled his arm tighter around her. "I am struggling, and I don't know what to paint."

"You will find it; I know you will, sweetheart." He leant over her, his lips finding hers easily in the dark. When he pulled away, breathless a few moments later he sighed.

"I was filled with images of my childhood. When my father went away on business, my mother would have her lovers over to the house. If I ever saw them, she told me they were measuring for a piece of furniture or were there to offer her business advice."

Karla was horrified at the image he continued to slowly show her of his childhood, growing up with parents who had no notion of honouring the vows they made or keeping this from their young son. "Is that you think I will do?"

Tears shone in Tristan's eyes as he nodded, relieved she could not see him in the dark room. "I haven't exactly had the most wonderful examples of trusting relationships," he responded dryly.

"I was trying not to cry at the thought of being without you for two weeks. We have barely spent a day away from each other since we went to the past." Karla paused as she raised a hand to touch his face. "Tristan, you need to believe me, I do not want another man in bed with me."

"I realise that now. I cannot tell you how sorry I am about everything I said."

"Shh." Karla held him close as she ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to comfort him. "Just promise me you will ring every night you are away."

Tristan smiled, pleased Karla was not the kind of woman to hold a grudge. "I promise."

* * *

Tristan turned his head to look at the clock on the bedside table. The glowing numbers read eight-eleven. He was reluctant to move from the bed where Karla was sleeping peacefully across his body, but he knew he had to get to work. He brushed the hair from her face, promising himself four more minutes in bed before he had to dress and get back to his studio to get ready for work. 

When his time was up, Tristan slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb Karla. He dressed quickly, placing Karla's pyjamas neatly at the foot of the bed and tucking the blankets tightly around her. He penned a quick note, left it on the pillow next to her and locked the door behind him.

A little over an hour later, Tristan, filled with unexplained warmth, walked into the office. He was vaguely aware of a few of the agents looking at him with curiosity, but none of it seemed to matter.

"Where's Karla?" he asked Charlotte, quickly coming down to earth when he saw her desk was unoccupied.

"She's in the kitchen. She must have seen your car drive up and rushed to get you a coffee and some food, I think. She said something about you probably not sleeping well last night if you were late," Charlotte responded, thinking nothing of the innuendo of Karla's muttered comment.

Tristan stared blankly at his employee for a brief moment before heading to his office, a small smile lighting his face.

The door of his office opened before Tristan had settled himself to reveal Karla balancing his coffee, a pastry and a stack of papers. As he considered his lover and the soft glow in her emerald eyes, Tristan noticed she had left her hair down this morning. She was wearing a charcoal skirt and a pale pink blouse and not looking quite as polished as normal.

"Morning," Tristan said as he crossed around to Karla's side of the desk and took the plates out of her hands.

"Good morning," Karla responded. The two stared at each other for a long moment in silence. Feeling slightly awkward, Karla retreated behind her professional façade. "The papers-"

The sentence was cut off when Tristan grabbed her around the waist and kissed her passionately. One hand was buried in her hair, while the other held her tight against his body. Surprised by his sudden movement, Karla could do nothing but grip the lapels of his coat.

Out of breath, Tristan set her away. He placed a few light kisses on her lips as he waited for her to regain her balance.

"I brought you a coffee and some breakfast," Karla said huskily, trying to remember why she went into his office in the first place. "I figured you wouldn't have had time to eat before you came to work." She smiled a secret smile.

"Thank you." Tristan was touched by the little act of thoughtfulness. "I'm sorry I -"

"Thank you for my rose," Karla said brightly as she cut him off. She knew he was going to apologise for not being there when she woke. He had said as much on the note he left on her pillow, along with a stylised drawing of a rose. She knew that was the price she had to pay in their relationship. She was fine with that – for now.

Besides, she thought as she sat down in the chair across from him, if Tristan was another five minutes late, or they arrived at the same time, the staff would have a field day with theories about office romances. As it was, they were already speculating who Tristan had spent the night with that he would arrive at work twenty minutes late – and smiling.

* * *

The night before he was booked to fly to London, Mya convinced Tristan and Karla to join her and Aleksandr for dinner. Much of the night was spent discussing the upcoming wedding and each couple's dating history. Mya had a few stories of how Aleksandr would surprise her with flowers and lunch to share at the shop when they had started dating. Tristan's eyes took on a thoughtful shine as he listened to the couple teasing each other about their dates. 

"Have you seen the Tank lately?" Karla asked Mya as took a bite of her dessert.

Mya nodded. She knew who the Tank was; a woman at gym who wore very little shorts and a crop top to flaunt her muscles. The Tank as they affectionately called her pushed herself and made most of the people in the class feel pathetic. "She's only doing the afternoon classes. Do you think she's pregnant?"

Karla shook her head. "I don't know, but she had definitely let herself go. I think it's since she got married a couple of months ago."

Mya smiled in contentment with Karla.

"I'll have to be careful not to let myself go! Speaking of marriage, when are you going to get married?" Mya asked with a wicked smile. She had watched the pair all night and had seen how well they interacted. They were very much in love and she was convinced they were ready to commit.

Karla felt her jaw drop at her friend's pointed question. Marriage! She looked at Tristan to see that his defences had once again been sturdily rebuilt. She had been working so hard on getting him to open up, and now, he was closed and detached again.

"Uh, we haven't thought about marriage." _At this stage_, she added silently to herself.

"We have only been dating for a few months. It is too soon to consider getting married," Tristan agreed. He had seen the curious looks from Mya and knew he needed to respond too.

Karla looked between Tristan and her friend and wondered if she should have told Mya a bit about Tristan's childhood. Perhaps if she knew what he went through, she would never have asked such a question. She shrugged.

"Tristan is planning on extending his business to London," Karla said proudly in an attempt to recover the relaxed atmosphere which had been lost.

While mixing paints, Karla stared blankly at her canvas, considering her future with Tristan. Having spent three months living with him under the Opera House she could not doubt they could live together happily. Now that the man was off on a business trip in London, Karla realised just how much he meant to her. She could not imagine her life without him.

He had been gone only three days, but was not expected back for another week – if not longer. He only told her a few days before he planned to fly out that he was going to London on business.

"Will you fly home for the weekend?" Karla asked hopefully as she stood with him at the gate.

"I won't be able to, sweetheart. I want to set up a branch of de Valence Realty in London in the fortnight I'm there. I'm going to be working all the time and getting little sleep."

He raised a hand and caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"I have to go, they're calling my flight," Tristan said, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "While I'm gone, sweetheart, you need to look for your muse. And, I want you to keep an eye on things here for me; make sure my employees are doing what I am paying them to do."

He had kissed her passionately then quickly boarded the plane, only pausing to wave goodbye to her before he disappeared from view.

Karla began to dab the paint onto the canvas when the phone rang. She grabbed the cordless on the second ring, hoping it would be Tristan.

"Hello, sweetheart. You're painting?" Tristan asked when he heard the radio in the background. "Have you found your muse?"

"Not yet. Although, I am pleased how my painting is coming along." Karla paused when she considered her recollections of the nineteenth century Opera House she was currently painting. "You can see my painting for yourself when you come home next week. I want to hear how things are going for you over there."

Tristan laughed at her none-too subtle attempt to change the subject, and then began to tell her of his meetings with banks and real estate agents. They chatted for several hours when Tristan looked at the clock.

"It must be almost eleven o'clock! I'm sorry I've kept you up."

"I enjoy just talking to you, Tris. I've missed you," Karla confessed softly.

"I have to go, I have breakfast meeting in the morning. Sleep well, sweetheart."


	9. A Chateau in the City

A/N: Before we begin, I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed my fic. I know it's not the normal Phantom of the Opera storyline, but I do appreciate knowing that it is being read and enjoyed. Thank you!

**A Chateau in the City**

Karla was amazed at how the staff was reacting to Tristan's absence. When she first started working for de Valence Realty, she would not have been surprised that the atmosphere relaxed considerably with the agents laughing and joking. Everyday there was a bag of fresh pastries or cakes to share which someone had picked up on their way to work. That never happened when Tristan was there.

What surprised her most was a little black book that seemed to appear in the kitchen overnight and was filled with wagers. Everyone was placing money on who they thought Tristan was sleeping with. The odds were in Antoinette Bartholomew's favour and heavily against herself.

Now as she considered the laidback attitude, she found it oddly hurtful. When she thought how Tristan interacted with his staff, it was not surprising they were celebrating his departure. But she found it disloyal.

Karla spent most of her lunches with Mya or at the gym. Mya was aware that her friend was brooding over her missing partner, and was doing her best to keep her occupied. Tristan was the first serious partner Karla had in years. That he disappeared to London for a fortnight was not lost on either of them.

"What do you think of this dress?" Mya asked as she pulled a pale green evening gown off the rack.

The two women were looking for dresses for Mya's three bridesmaids to wear to her wedding. They had been to numerous shops and were quickly running out of options. There was always something wrong with one dress or another. It was too bright; too overdone; it wouldn't flatter one of the other bridesmaids' colourings. Mya had very set ideas when it came to what her girls were going to be wearing.

Karla wasn't sure about the dress but Mya insisted, pushing her into a change room with the dress. When she stepped out a minute later, Mya smiled smugly at her friend.

"That is the one you will all be wearing."

* * *

Against her will on Friday night, the agents dragged Karla out to after work drinks, which they planned to claim as an office expense. She enjoyed herself immensely; she did not realise how amusing and devoted Tristan's employees were.

She arrived home a little after ten, dropped her bag and keys on the kitchen bench then froze when she heard banging in her bedroom. She slowly made her way down to her room – she had no idea what she would do if there was a stranger in her home.

Fear turned to relief, then delight when she saw Tristan rummaging through the papers on her desk by the window.

Crying out his name, she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck as his mouth found hers in a passionate kiss. She took a step back to look at him briefly before reclaiming his lips.

"What are you doing here? You weren't due back until next Wednesday."

Tristan looked down into her shining eyes, and kissed her, unable to control himself. "I missed you."

Those words, so simply said, yet so meaningful, caused the tears of happiness to fall as Karla pulled his lips back to hers.

"What were you looking for on my desk?" Karla asked as she pulled of his tie and began to unbutton his shirt.

"I was trying to find Mya's number to see if she knew where you were; you weren't answering your phone."

"I must have left it on my desk when I went out for drinks with everyone."

"Drinks with everyone?" Tristan repeated as he pulled off her camisole and bra. "I would like to hear the details of that – later."

The couple were still in bed late the next morning when the Tristan's phone rang. Jumping from bed and searching for the intrusion, Tristan found it at the foot of the bed. He sat on the edge as he listened to the caller. Annoyed that someone had disturbed their romantic reunion, Karla slipped from the bed and began to kiss Tristan's neck and shoulders.

When he ended the call, Tristan pushed her back into the bed and continued her explorations.

Much later, Karla lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him. "That was someone from London earlier, wasn't it? I thought you finished there."

Tristan kissed her forehead. "No, I wasn't able to get everything finalised while I was there. It just means I will have to fly over there for a few days now and again while I set up my business. I had to come home and see you."

"You should be a politician; you always know the right thing to say." Karla smiled as she moved in to kiss him. "Have you ever thought of moving in together?" she asked suddenly.

Tristan looked at her in surprise. He had been thinking that it was lonely returning to his studio every night, especially after spending so much time in Karla's presence. He had enjoyed spending the entire night with her the other week and waking in the morning with her.

"I shouldn't have said anything." She threw off the covers and quickly grabbed her robe, tying it around her body to shield herself from Tristan's gaze.

"Karla, sweetheart, I agree; we should move in together." He watched as she turned and faced him with surprise. "Get dressed and we will go out for breakfast and look for a house."

Judging from her expression, she had expected him to move into her house. He shook his head as he began to get dressed. He wanted a house that would be big enough for the two of them, Karla's painting and any guests who came to stay. He wanted a house they could call their own.

Tristan's quick agreement that they should live together surprised Karla. As they were driving through Paris, considering which districts they would live in, Karla continued to stare at Tristan. Aware of her continually studying him, he cocked his head to the side, his eyebrow raised in silent enquiry.

"You really want to do this?"

Tristan paused for a moment. "Yes."

"You are happy to try and find a place near the Opéra House?" she asked. She still could not believe this was all happening. "You have a few beautiful chateaus for sale less than an hour outside of the city." Karla watched him from under her lashes.

Tristan nodded. He understood Karla's need to be close to the building. It was their way of remembering that they had indeed lived under the Opéra House and everything that had happened to them as a couple.

"I know the ones you mean. We do not need a chateau; we can find an apartment as suitable apartment here. The Opéra House is central."

To Karla's absolute dismay there was nothing for sale near the Opéra. The closest they were able to find was a lovely, bright three-bedroom apartment overlooking the jardins du Palais Royal.

When they entered the apartment building near the Bois de Boulogne, Karla gripped Tristan's hand tightly as she took in the foyer with its winding staircase and old-fashioned elevator. The agent took them on a tour of the fourth-floor apartments, telling them of the mouldings, high ceilings and the six bedrooms, plus a master bedroom with ensuite and dressing room.

Karla had remained silent throughout the tour, yet Tristan was very aware of her reactions to everything she was seeing. Her hand tightened almost painfully on his.

When Karla suggested the chateaus, Tristan knew instantly the type of house she was looking for, but was reluctant to leave the city. Everything about this apartment, down to the dressings and furniture bore a striking resemblance to the Phantom's house. It made sense to live somewhere like that.

Karla looked around the room she had decided to use as her studio with its large windows, knowing that _this_ was the house they had to have. Here was an apartment, right in the heart of the city that would be enough for them, her painting and the children she hoped to have one day.

And, she reminded herself with smile, it was only a short distance to the Bois de Boulogne where she and Tristan had spent many hours together in the distant past.

"Have you have had much interest?" Tristan asked the real estate agent.

"This apartment has only been on the market for a short time. There have been a few couples who have inspected the property. They have had such positive comments about it."

Tristan nodded; he understood her response. He placed a calming hand over Karla's when she, yet again tightened her grip on his hand. She wanted this apartment – desperately.

"My partner and I have only just started to look for a house; we'll need time to look around more before we make a decision."

The woman nodded. "Here is my card. Let me know if you are interested in this apartment and we will start to arrange things." She smiled at Tristan and Karla.

"Why didn't you do anything?" Karla demanded a few minutes later as she glared at Tristan from her position in the passenger seat. "Tristan, I love that apartment. It is just what we are looking for – it will be perfect for my painting."

"Are you sure about that apartment?"

"You know I am." She could not understand why he was being so difficult.

Tristan smiled as he caught her hand and kissed the back of it. "I will call her first thing tomorrow morning and get the terms arranged. I will have to arrange an appointment with my bank."

Karla turned to stare at him surprised.

"Contrary to what you might think of me, sweetheart, I do not carry contracts around; nor does any realtor." He kissed her hand to assure her he meant no harm.

"I have money in term deposit; I'll write to the bank and get it out." Tristan accepted Karla's offer with a smile, knowing it would be a losing battle to argue with her about who would finance the house.

Unable to help herself, Karla leant across the space that separated them and kissed him. "You loved it too, didn't you?"

Laughing at her belated enquiry, Tristan nodded. "It will be our chateau in the middle of the city."


	10. The Other Man

**The Other Man**

Karla moved over to Tristan's side of the bed, to cuddle up with him only to find it empty and cold. She slipped out of bed and headed to the kitchen where she watched him making a batch of pancakes while sipping a cup of coffee. He was wearing a pair of shorts, his torso and feet bare. She smiled at him as she joined him in the kitchen, kissing his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"You're up early. I'd hoped to have a lazy morning in bed." She pouted as Tristan turned around and kissed her.

"I'm going for my standing run with a friend. Tom got back from a business trip last week. We make it a point to run together every second Saturday."

"Oh." Karla forced a brilliant smile. "That's fine. I'll spend the morning painting; the light is perfect. How long do you have until you leave?" she asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck and began to trace the outline of his lips with her tongue.

"Not long enough," he muttered as he kissed her.

"So who is she?" Tom asked as he and Tristan walked across the bridge as they began to warm up before their run. 

"Who is who?" Tristan asked, silently calling his friend every insult he could think of. Tom had always been incredibly observant and paid attention to the little details.

"The woman. You have a stupid, contented look on your face, a love bite on your neck and you were late. I've never known you to be more than five minutes late."

"She's an artist and my personal assistant."

Tom extracted a few more details about Karla during the rest of the warm up. Eventually, the pair ran in silence, each man left to his own thoughts. When the two finished where they started, Tom fixed Tristan with a dark look.

"I want to meet her; I mean it, Tristan. She sounds incredible. Talk to her and let me know when Victoria and I can meet her."

* * *

"What have you told Tom about me?" Karla asked Tristan as she continued to chew her lip.

Tristan could not help but think this was a bad idea. He hated seeing Karla so anxious. But Tom was insistent that he meet Tristan's woman. When Tristan did not call him to arrange a time to meet, Tom took matters into his own hands. He called the office and, as he expected, got Karla and arranged a meeting through her.

So, here they were, sitting in a coffee shop, waiting for Tom and his wife Victoria.

Tristan smoothed his thumb across Karla's lips in a silent order. "I have only told Tom what you do and what you look like. He did not dare ask anything else." His thumb settled at the corner of her mouth as he stroked her cheek.

"Why not?"

"Because you are mine, and I don't want to share you," Tristan answered thickly, smiling when Karla's eyes flew open in surprise.

Victoria and Tom arrived to see the Tristan caressing Karla's face. The married couple shared a secret smile before going to join them at the table. Victoria immediately warmed to the woman and involved her in a conversation about her artwork while Tristan and Tom placed their orders.

When they returned a few minutes later, Tristan placed a cappuccino with extra chocolate and a chocolate cake in front of Karla. She shyly kissed him on the cheek, then picked up her fork and cut half the cake off for Tristan before cutting her piece in half again.

"Tom and I have been married for two years and I still have to tell him what to order for me," Victoria observed Tristan and Karla with bright eyes. The two interacted as though they were a married couple who had been together for decades.

"That is because you never drink the same coffee two days in a row!" he defended himself with a playful glare at his wife. "How long have you known each other? Tristan was not very forthcoming with information about your relationship."

Karla bit her lip as she considered the answer. They had spent three months in the past and had learnt a great deal about each other. Did that count? "We've been dating for almost six months."

Victoria's eyes danced as she noticed the slight emphasis on the word 'dating'. "You knew each other before that."

Karla glanced at Tristan to find his amber eyes hard as he looked at his friend's wife. It seemed that he liked the interrogation less than she did.

Tristan explained their meeting at the ball, his eyes softening as he recalled the night he danced and kissed Karla for the first time. He went on to explain how Karla had taken a job with his real estate business.

"You didn't know he worked there?" Victoria gasped, her romantic imagination carrying away.

Karla refused to answer such a direct and incriminating question. "We did not start dating until I had been working there for about two months." Karla saw Victoria begin to phrase her next question. She was tired of being a specimen under a microscope. "Tristan said that you are an interior designer, Victoria. Did he introduce you to Tom?"

Victoria smiled at her husband before relating the story of how she had met Tom. As Karla was listening fascinated to Victoria and Tom's story, Tristan reached under the table and squeezed her knee in silence thanks.

"Is she always like that?" Karla gasped as she watched Victoria and Tom getting into their car across the street.

Tristan nodded. "Vicki is very forward, but a lovely woman. I'm sorry; I should have warned you about her."

"Yes, you should have!" she huffed. Her eyes travelled to his lips before watching the couple across the street.

"I'm sorry; I really am. Will you forgive me?" Tristan asked with a smile as he took a step towards her, cupped her face and kissed her. "Do you forgive me?"

Karla smiled against his mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I forgive you."

Tom stared at his friend and his partner. He had known Tristan since they were teenagers, and never once had he seen him be so tender towards a woman, let alone smile at another person.

The lovely and quiet Karla Beaumont was the perfect complement to his friend. One glance at his wife assured him she had seen what he had and was already planning what she would wear to their wedding.

* * *

Karla grabbed her bag as she left the class and turned to Mya with an awkward smile.

"I won't be coming to run with you tomorrow. Tristan and I have a date."

Mya stared at her friend in shock, unable to believe that she was missing their weekly run. She knew, of course that Karla did not enjoy running, and did it merely as an opportunity to gossip, but she was never one to miss the chance to catch up on the latest gossip. She shrugged off the hurt. It was nice to see that her friend was in a serious relationship at last, but she was hurt by the thought that Karla was choosing Tristan over her.

"Where are you going?" Mya asked, trying to sound interested. If anything, Karla looked more uncomfortable.

"He hasn't told me; it's a surprise."

The following day, all the staff had finished for the day, and it was, as usual only Tristan and Karla left in the office finishing a few things before they went home. Tristan dropped his keys on Karla's desk and turned to her with a smile.

"Interested in drinks on the way home?"

Karla looked up at him with a sad smile. "Love to, but I can't. Mya and I are going on our weekly run."

Tristan looked slightly downcast as her refusal. Karla stood and wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a kiss on his chin.

"How about we go tomorrow night instead?" When Tristan nodded his agreement, she kissed him again. "I'll be home about seven-thirty."

He nodded, accepting her explanation and waited for her to turn her computer off before walking her outside.

* * *

Karla stepped back from her painting to consider her work. As always, the radio was playing in the living room, loud enough that she could hear it in the next room. Content that she could achieve no more today, she crossed to the table and began to rinse her brushes.

Tristan arrived in time to see her staring critically at her work. He had to smile at the way she would add a touch of colour then stand back and look at it again. She had come such a long way in the four months since they had returned from the past. No longer was she stuck painting architecture on dull days. She still hadn't found what was her niche, what she was looking for, but her work seemed lighter and full of feeling.

He joined her at the table and wrapped his arms around her waist laughing before kissing her ear when she let out a little squeal at the unexpected contact. She tilted her head slightly to allow him to kiss her lips.

"What is the time?"

"Almost five. Can I _see_ your painting?" he asked, recalling her dislike of people seeing her paintings before she was ready to show them.

"You've already seen it!" she laughed as she pulled him to look at the canvas, wrapping his arm around her waist. "What do you think? I think I'm nearly done."

Tristan nodded against the crown of her head. "Composition is brilliant. I think it's safe to say you are out of your rut."

Karla wrinkled her nose. "Nearly. I keep missing something, but I can't figure out what that _something_ is."

He placed a kiss on her head. "Patience, sweetheart; you'll find it in time. Now, go get changed; we're going out for dinner."

"I have to have a shower." She looked down at her paint-stained fingers.

"I know," he touched her forehead where she had a smear of red paint before kissing her lips and sending her off. "Dress casual but warm, Karla!"

Half an hour later, they were stopping in front of a small restaurant. Without a word, Tristan went inside, leaving Karla sitting in the car, confused. After a few minutes of waiting, he returned with two bags which he placed in the back.

"I thought you said we were going out for dinner," she commented with a pout when the scent of food diffused through the car.

"We are," Tristan assured her placing a quick kiss on her cheek before starting the car.

Ten minutes later, Tristan entered the Bois do Boulogne. Karla smiled at him as she realised what he intended. They were going to have dinner in the wood, just the two of them and no interruptions. Here, they would be able to talk and cuddle with no interruptions.

Karla sat between Tristan's legs, resting against his chest as they picked at the food Tristan had picked up from the restaurant, taking turns feeding each other.

"It hasn't changed at all in the hundred and twenty years since we were last here!" Karla exclaimed as she looked at her surroundings, and then laughed at her ridiculous statement. "I'm glad you remembered I said I wanted to come back and see it."

"There are so many things here in Paris that you have missed out on, Karla. But, I plan to show them to you."

Karla nodded, liking the idea. "Very soon we'll only be living a few blocks away, you can bring me here and we can try all the restaurants."

Tristan wrapped his arms tighter about her body in silent agreement. He liked the idea of spending the rest of their life together patronising all the restaurants of the _Bois_.

As the stars slowly began to shine in the sky, Tristan pointed them out, telling her how the got their name and which constellation they belonged to. He took great delight telling her the tale of Aldebaran and its constellation.

Karla twisted around and pushed him onto the rug so that she was lying on his stomach.

"Where did you get the idea to do this, Tristan? It sounds like a very old fashioned thing to do."

Tristan smiled at her playful tone. "An old friend gave me some advice when it comes to courting a lady. He suggested I listen to her, take note of the way she reacts in certain situations and take her likes into consideration." He placed a kiss on her lips.

Karla frowned in confusion at his vague observations but said nothing.

"With that in mind, we have to be at the theatre in ten minutes." He rolled Karla onto her back before standing and assisting her to her feet.

"Tristan, we are-" she stopped suddenly, her eyes glowing. "You are wonderful!"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, not caring if anyone saw them embracing. Tristan remembered her awed reaction when she saw the outdoor theatre all those months and centuries ago. He had made arrangements for them to have a quiet picnic dinner together then go to the theatre.

* * *

The phone continued to ring.

Tristan answered it, expecting it to be Karla, but was surprised to find it was Tom calling him in a state of panic.

Tom and Victoria had been shopping when they had seen Karla with another man. He had been reluctant to tell Tristan, but Vicky had insisted, maintaining that Tristan had a right to know what was going on.

"What do you mean she is out with another man?" Tristan demanded coldly. He could feel his whole world falling down around his ears. It seemed as if history was repeating itself and Tristan had been attracted to a woman like his mother. Perhaps if he had been unfaithful to her, he could better understand why she was with another man. But he had been nothing but devoted.

"She told me she was shopping with her girlfriend."

Tom said nothing. He regretted giving into his wife and interfering in Tristan's love life. He did not want to say anything and incriminate Karla even more. Tom was certain there was a reasonable explanation for the man seen shopping with Karla. He had not known the woman for long, but Tom could see that she and Tristan were in love.

Karla dropped her bags in the doorway and flicked on the lights. She let out a scream when she saw Tristan sitting in the dark. His amber eyes glowed with fury.

"How was shopping with Mya?"

Karla did not know how to answer him. She had a feeling that he knew something more than he was saying.

"It looks like you had quite a successful shopping trip, judging from all those bags. Perhaps you had a successful afternoon for reasons other than shopping?"

"What are you talking about?" Karla asked as she sank down into the chair. She wanted to remain standing – to have an advantage over Tristan – but her legs would not support her.

"Tom rang. He and Victoria saw you with another man this afternoon. He said you seemed very close; that you even hugged the man."

Understanding dawned in Karla's eyes.

"I cannot believe you would do this to me, Karla. I trusted you. I told you what happened between my parents and I trusted you would never betray me the way they betrayed each other."

Until then, Karla had been too shocked to defend herself. But to be compared so unfavourably to his parents… The spell that had been holding her silent broke and she let fly with a temper.

"You stupid male! Do you honestly believe that I even consider looking at another man while I am with you? I am not interested in having an affair with anyone! I only want to be with you.

"When are you going to understand that I am not like your mother, that I will never betray you by sleeping with another man? I have more honour than that!"

Karla rose from her chair and stood over him. Not to be intimidated, Tristan stood, looming over Karla.

"_You_ do not trust _me_. Could you not give me the benefit of a doubt and talk to me rationally before deciding that I am guilty?"

"_Fine_. Who was that man?"

"He is my singing teacher. He was helping me pick some music for our lessons; we have very different tastes in music."

"Your singing teacher?" Tristan repeated in disbelief.

"Can you not take my word that I am not seeing anyone over the word of your friend?" Karla asked, defeated. She reached out a hand to touch his arm, but let it fall to her side.

"I have known Tom for years. Why didn't you tell me you were taking lessons?"

Karla sighed as she sank down into Tristan's chair and buried her face in her hands. That was one question she had asked herself numerous times. Why hadn't she told her partner and her best friend? She looked up at him with teary eyes.

"I don't know. I guess it was something I felt I had to deal with on my own. Ever since I ran off the stage, I knew I had to start to sing again. Like you said, I couldn't allow the fear and sorrow to stop me from doing something I'm good at and enjoy. I never meant to keep it from you; I just wasn't ready to tell you."

Tristan looked at her, feeling emotionally drained. His friend had been wrong. Karla was not seeing another man. She had been having singing lessons. He sighed with relief as he held his arms open to her.

"I'm sorry." Karla threw herself at him with a watery smile and buried her face in his chest. "Will you come to my lesson Thursday night?"

Tristan smiled. She had nothing to hide and she now wanted him to help her through this step in her life. "Yes," he said placing a kiss in her hair. "I'll be there."


	11. Three Words

**Three Words**

Karla took a quick sip from her water bottle as she listened to Mya run through a list of things they had to get done before the wedding in a little over a month's time. The two women were on the treadmills at the gym planning the wedding and discussing the merits of Victorian decor.

"Settlement is this weekend!"

"You will have to a housewarming!" Mya insisted when Karla told her again about the new apartment and studio.

Karla laughed. "As far as I can tell, no one in the office knows for sure Tristan and I are dating. They will die when they find out we have bought a house together."

"You should tip off your friend at work a few days before you send out the invitations," Mya suggested, having already been informed about the bet.

"What?" Karla jumped off the treadmill to stare at her friend in outrage. "That is even assuming we _have_ a housewarming."

"Of course you will. Tristan will not be able to resist the opportunity to show off his new house and woman."

* * *

Tristan smiled stiffly as he accepted the small pile of cookbooks as a housewarming present. When he agreed to host the silly party, he imagined taking their friends on a tour of the apartment, sit down to a simple meal, then let them be on their way. He did not like the idea of his employees wandering through his house, poking their noses into the rooms.

Now, he was burdened with more stuff than he knew what to do with – and to top it off, he had no idea where Karla was. He had last seen her dragging her friend off down the far end of the apartments, probably showing her the studio.

"I never expected you and Karla to be together," Justin, one of Tristan's longest working employees said with a grin. "I cannot believe neither of you said anything about the bet."

"_What bet_?" Tristan asked as he gripped the books tightly until his knuckles turned white.

"Oh, God!" Karla whispered in horror as she returned from showing Mya the apartment. Tristan knew nothing of the bet; she had deliberately kept that from him. She did not want the changes in his character and hence the relationship with his employees to suffer because of a bit of fun.

"Tristan! I've been looking for you!" Karla said with a smile as she wrapped her hands possessively around his upper arm. "Tom and Victoria have just arrived; Tom wanted you to show him around."

Tristan glanced down at Karla. His eyes both thanked her and demanded an explanation at the same time. With a nervous smile, she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"I'll explain later," she whispered.

The housewarming was a success. After three hours of chatting and taking groups of friends and employees on a tour of the apartment, Tristan and Karla were in the kitchen washing and drying serving platters.

"What was Justin talking about?" Tristan asked as he handed Karla a plate.

Karla smiled nervously at Tristan's dark look. "While you were in London, the guys in the office decided to make a wager book. The first, among others was who you were sleeping with."

"You knew about this?" Tristan asked, unable to believe Karla had kept something like this from him.

Karla nodded.

"Did anyone wager on you?" If anyone mentioned her name, he was going to fire them. He did not care what his staff thought of him – people had been talking about him since he was a child. He was always the little boy whose parents would scream at each other at birthday parties or when they picked him up from school. As far as he was concerned, he was responsible for Karla, anyone slandering her name would have some explaining to do.

Karla placed the platter down with extra care and pulled Tristan's hands out of the sink and dried them on her towel before placing them on her hips. Her fingers traced the pattern on his shirt as she considered her answer.

"Only Toby – but I think that was his imagination; the boss and his PA." Karla glanced up at him through her lashes with a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "And Charlotte when I told her we were together a day before we handed out the invitations to the housewarming."

Tristan swore under his breath. "You encouraged Charlotte to wager on you?"

"It was Mya's idea!" Karla sighed as she stroked his chest in a soothing manner. "The wagering still would have continued if you knew about it. It was a bit of harmless fun."

Tristan raised a brow at Karla's defence of his employees. "You should have told me. I would have preferred not finding out we were involved in a wager at a party we were holding as a couple."

Karla nodded. "I didn't though, because I knew how you would react. They love the new you, Tristan. I didn't want them to lose him, or for you to lose the ground you had gained with them. _I_ love the new you and do not want to lose him."

Tristan rested his forehead against Karla's. He could understand her reasons for not telling him of the wager. He would have burnt the book, torn his staff to shreds and lost their support. Since travelling to nineteenth century Paris with Karla, Tristan had noticed changes in himself and the way he and his staff interacted.

He was grudgingly impressed at their ability to keep something from him for such a long time. He was even more impressed that he and Karla had hidden their relationship. Well, he decided with a smile as he gently tugged on Karla's hair so he could kiss her, they would not have to hide anymore.

* * *

Karla and Tristan were sitting over their extended lunch, watching people pass by when Tristan's phone rang. With an apologetic look, he pulled it out and answered it.

"Yes… I'm glad everything is finalised… That is very generous… Yes, I am… We would love to… Alright, thank you."

He hung up and returned his phone to his coat pocket and looked at Karla. "I have a dinner date with John Montgomery and his wife tonight. John has asked that you come too."

"Tonight?" Karla repeated, her mind already considering how to make everything happen.

Tomorrow was Mya's wedding and it was decided that the bride and her bridesmaids would make the bonbonniere while watching girly movies and drinking champagne and orange juice and eating chocolate.

"Yes, tonight. Is there a problem?"

"Yes! Mya's getting married tomorrow! We have had this night planned for ages."

"Karla, you are my partner; I would like you to come with me."

Karla reached across the table and grasped his hand. "I know that, but Mya is my best friend. I cannot disappoint her. I cannot come."

When he did not respond to her plea to not attend the business dinner, Karla returned her attention to her plate. She began to pick at the salad, pushing a tomato around as she thought of a way to persuade him.

Tristan however was not willing to let the issue rest. "Come for drinks with the Montgomeries then you can join your friends and do wedding stuff."

Karla smiled at him. She was always grateful of his quick problem-solving ability.

Several hours later, Karla and Tristan joined John and Alice Montgomery at the restaurant, arriving directly from the office. Karla had returned home after lunch to pick up her knee-length black dress for drinks. When she stepped out of the bathroom, Tristan's expression was well worth the trouble of re-arranging her night.

"John, Alice, this is my partner, Karla Beaumont. Karla, John and Alice Montgomery."

"Congratulations on buying your house. Caumartin is a beautiful street that has changed very little since the late eighteen-hundreds," Karla said brightly as she accepted the glass of juice Tristan handed to her.

Karla was nervously aware of Alice's confused expression, but the secret smile Tristan gave her made her forget about her slip and the onlookers' interest.

The two couples chatted easily for an hour or so when Karla suddenly stood. "I am afraid I will have to leave you. My friend is getting married tomorrow and we have a few last minute things to finish before the wedding."

"It was lovely meeting you, Karla. I will have to call into your patron coffee shops! I would love to see your work."

Karla smiled. She handed Alice her business card, saying, "I am happy to paint a request."

"Excuse me while I see Karla to a cab," Tristan said formally as he took Karla's hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow.

John and Alice smiled at the couple who had obviously only been together for a short time.

"Thank you for coming, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry I couldn't stay the whole night, Tristan. Mya…" Tristan silenced her with a finger against her lips.

"Just don't forget that you have promised to make it up to me," he said seductively as he kissed her, pressing her body against the car.

"I am staying at Mya's parents' house tonight," Karla muttered, forcing her brain to function.

"In that case, I will see you see you tomorrow. Good night, sweetheart," he said before kissing her again.

* * *

Karla sighed as she looked at Tristan over Marcus' shoulder. He was sitting at the table, running his finger along the top of a wineglass. The poor man was clearly bored; he knew very few people at Mya and Aleksandr's wedding and was now being forced to watch her dance with another man as part of her duties as maid of honour.

Karla transferred her attention to the newlyweds and smiled as she watched the pair whispering in each other's ear. She was so happy that Mya was able to find someone who loved her and accepted her as she was.

"It's sickening, isn't it?" Marcus asked, following her gaze.

"Yes; but they're happy and it makes everyone here happy," Karla responded philosophically. "I think that-"

"Do you mind?" Tristan's voice cut in, preventing Karla from defending Marcus' teasing observation. "I would like to dance with my partner."

Marcus surrendered Karla into Tristan's arms with no protest.

"That was mean," Karla chided as she placed a quick kiss on his lips.

Tristan shrugged as he returned her kiss. "I came to this wedding with the intention of spending the afternoon with you, stealing kisses between photos. This is the first opportunity I have had to even talk to you!"

Karla's eyes sparkled as she considered his words. "Stealing kisses between photos, I rather like that idea. But do tell, how were you planning to do that?"

As answer, Tristan lowered his head to trail kisses along her jaw and neck. Karla's eyes drifted shut as she surrendered to Tristan's kisses. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Mya smirking at her. The two women had a brief, unspoken conversation over the shoulder of their partner.

"Don't think, Karla," Tristan said suddenly, as he released her right hand to pull her hard against his body, "That I don't know when I don't have all of your attention." He spun around, to see Mya staring at them and raised an eyebrow at Karla.

"Is there somewhere we can go where you will not be distracted?"

Karla grabbed his hand and began to lead him from the dance floor and onto the balcony. Once out there, Tristan immediately pressed her against the wall as he began to kiss her thoroughly. His hands were sliding along her silk dress. Karla buried her hands in his hair, pulling him closer.

"I love you," Karla sighed against his lips as they paused for breath. Karla returned her lips to his to find Tristan stepping back from her, his hands falling to his sides. "Tristan?"

She could feel him withdrawing from her, and didn't know what to do. The thought of him returning to how he was before they went back to the nineteenth century terrified her. Karla shuddered at his impassive mask.

"You're cold." Tristan placed his coat around her shoulders and immediately stepped away from her.

"Tristan, what is it?" she whispered, as she cautiously raised her hand to touch his shoulder. _I love you._ It all flooded back to her. She silently cursed the passionate words that slipped out of her mouth.

Those were the very words Tristan's mother had said to her husband on numerous occasions, only to turn around and have affairs with several men. It was little wonder he reacted as he had. Scenes from his childhood were obviously replaying themselves in his mind.

Karla collapsed onto the edge of a planter box as she watched Tristan for a moment. She jumped up from her seat, rushing to stand in front of him when he headed for the door that led back to the function room.

"Where are you going?" Karla demanded, hands on hips.

"I'm going inside. I do not want to deal with this!"

"We have to and we'll do it now. You may deal with your problems by walking away, but that is not how I do it."

Karla glared angrily up into Tristan's face. Once again, he wore his mask. All traces of the lover who would smile and laugh with her were gone. Instead, she was left with the cold man she loved, yet hated at the same time.

"I am not going to go back without this resolved – to some extent!"

Tristan's shoulders sagged as he admitted defeat. He had often been told that he needed to talk about his problems rather than running away and letting them blow over. Karla was right; they had to sort this out. He hated to think what her friend would say when she saw them refusing to talk after she saw them kissing on the dance floor.

"It was your mother, wasn't it?" Karla asked noticing the change in Tristan's posture. "She would tell your father she loved him then go out with another man, wouldn't she?" Tristan raised an eyebrow as a response. "She made him believe she loved him, yet all the while she was betraying him. What about your father?"

"Leave him out of this," he hissed softly as he strode up to stand over her. "He never once told her he loved her. That would have been a lie. One thing he would not do to her was pretend he loved her!"

"Do you think I don't mean it?" She reached out and took his hand, preventing him from turning away. "I _do_ love you, Tristan. I will never do anything that might hurt you. I cannot imagine loving another man as much as I love you."

Tristan's eyes softened as his mask began to crumble ever so slightly. "Karla, I cannot-"

"I'm not asking you to tell me that you love me. All I'm asking is that you trust me, and trust my love."

"You're not like my mother," he muttered under his breath.

Karla smiled at the softly spoken words, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. She stood, prepared to go back inside when Tristan stopped her.

"I would prefer to stay out here alone for a few minutes."

His eyes pleaded with hers, silently asking her to accept his need to think and regain some control over his emotions. He had reluctantly dealt with Karla's profession of love her way. Now, he needed to come to terms with what had happened between them and where they now stood. He had to do that alone.

Karla nodded and went inside.

"Where is your man?" Dimitra, Aleksandr's sister asked when Karla returned from the balcony alone, but still wearing Tristan's coat.

"He had an urgent business call he had to make," Karla replied easily with a small smile. "He takes his job very seriously." Not for anything would she allow this woman to know how observation disturbed her. "Why is your boyfriend not dancing with you?"

Dimitra looked over her shoulder to see her boyfriend and her cousin talking animatedly. She shrugged. "He seems happy with Sacha."

Karla moved to the middle of the floor and away from Dimitra. She had no idea how long she danced there. She was not able to forget about the confrontation she and Tristan had. This was the second fight they'd had. The first one was resolved quickly when Tristan left for a few hours of thinking.

She had forced him to change how he dealt with conflict to suit her. He had done as she wanted, but she had no idea how that would impact on their relationship.

Karla saw Mya looking curiously at her and offered her friend a brilliant smile, while her heart was silently breaking on the inside.

Tristan saw the sadness and anxiety in Karla's eyes. It seemed as though she was not as comfortable with the resolution as she appeared. That made two of them. The bright smile she offered whoever was watching her filled him with jealousy. He quickly blocked out the thought that Karla was smiling at a handsome man only fifteen minutes after claiming to love him.

He crossed the room to where Karla was dancing with another bridesmaid. He wrapped his arms her waist and pulled her to him so that her back was pressed along the length of his body. He placed a kiss on her cheek as she twined her hands around his neck.

They stood like that for a few moments before Tristan stepped from her grasp and led her to his table with the intention to pick up were he left off. There, Tristan removed his serviette that was covering his plate to reveal a piece of wedding cake.

"I know about your sweet tooth," he said softly with a smile.

Karla laughed at his peace offering and cut the cake horizontally in half.

One thing Karla adored about Tristan was that he was not one to hold a grudge. He would take time out, think about his problem and within a few hours it was forgotten. It seemed as if nothing had ever happened.

"Have you had any?" When Tristan shook his head, she cut a piece of the cake. She watched his face as he tasted the rich chocolate. "You need to appreciate the cake, Tris. The icing is the best part and needs to be saved to last. Take your time," she informed him as she fed him another piece of cake.

"Much better."

Karla placed the fork on the plate and raised her hand to his lips to wipe some chocolate from his lip. She smiled softly as she held Tristan's eyes; speaking volumes without saying a word. She watched Tristan began to feed her much as she had done a few moments before.

"Save the best to last, that way, you finish your meal contented," Tristan murmured as he watched her lips close over the last piece of cake and icing.

Karla's eyes shone as he repeated her philosophy. Surprising them both, she raised her lips to his and kissed him. Tristan growled as he pulled her closer to him, tasting chocolate on her lips. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Karla sighed against his lips.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the master of ceremonies interrupted their embrace, "the bride will toss her bouquet, so would all the eligible ladies please assemble on the floor?"

Karla and Tristan shared one last kiss and look before Karla went to join the crowd of unmarried women.

"My right," Mya whispered into Karla's ear as she passed her then giggled before tossing the flowers a minute later.

Karla watched the flowers fly over her head and into the hands of Aleksandr's sister.

* * *

"Karla, how could you have missed the bouquet? I threw it right at you!" Mya asked exasperated nearly an hour later as Karla helped her change from her wedding dress into her going away dress. "Dimitra! Her poor boyfriend will never hear the end of it now; not with her big mouth."

Karla ignored the slights towards Aleksandr's sister. She did overly like the woman, but she could understand Mya's annoyance towards the woman who had told Aleksandr's family that they were engaged before they ready.

"Dimitra is your sister-in-law now, Mya. You really should try and ignore the fact that she is a shocking gossip. I can think of nothing worse than to be on the outs with your husband's sister hours after the wedding."

"I know that, Karla. But the silly woman needs to-" Mya looked up in the mirror to glare at her friend. "Stop trying to distract me. What is going on with you and Tristan? Things seem to be going very well."

Karla refused to answer immediately. She concentrated on pulling the pins from Mya's hair before speaking. "They were, then they weren't and now they are again. I'm not sure."

"I saw you dancing and I saw you enjoying my wedding cake. What happened in between?" Mya asked as she considered the pale blue dress in the mirror.

"Things seemed perfect." Karla sighed as she plunked down onto the Mya's recently vacated chair. "Then I opened my big mouth and ruined everything."

"What did you say?" Mya asked. She needed to know what was going on between the pair.

"Three words; _I love you._"


	12. Four More Words

**Four More Words**

Karla feigned a headache and spent the afternoon at home. When she told Tristan she was feeling unwell, his first thought that her illness was far more serious than a simple headache. Karla smiled as she recalled his look of panic fade to a relieved smile when she assured him she would be fine if she could just lie down.

Karla decided that tonight she would repay Tristan for allowing her to leave the dinner with the Montgomeries and was trying to decorate the apartment for their romantic evening before Tristan arrived home from work.

She often wondered what she had done to deserve a man as romantic as Tristan. He would always spoil her with little surprises and kisses when she least expected it. Only last week he went out grocery shopping and returned home with a block of Karla's favourite chocolate to share while watching a movie. This was her chance to spoil him.

Unfortunately things did not go as planned.

The thermostat of the oven was playing up and ended up burning the main dish. The pastries were doughy and had sunk. The entrées turned out how they were supposed to – but that was all.

Karla had first burst into tears at the sight of all her planning and hard work coming to nothing. Now, she was glaring at the flat pastries, trying to think of a way she could salvage them. She should have known better than to try something as difficult and temperamental as choux pastry. But, she thought she was ready for the challenge. She was after all, a decent cook. Obviously, she gave herself too much credit.

That was how Tristan came home to find Karla staring down at a cooling rack with her hands on her hips. He wrapped his arms through hers and around her waist as he placed a kiss on her cheek. He looked down at the counter and raised a brow.

"Tristan! Oh no!" Karla cried as she collapsed against his chest, tears falling down her cheeks again.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he asked softly as he stroked her hair in a calming manner.

Karla tilted her head back to look at Tristan. "This was payment for leaving dinner with the Montgomeries early. I wanted to make you a nice romantic dinner and give you a massage. I had everything planned. I made decorations. I wanted it to be perfect.

"The chicken is black and the pastries are flat! I haven't lit the candles!" she mumbled as she paused for breath. She hid her face in his chest again.

Tristan smiled as grasped her chin and tilted her head back to look at her. "It doesn't matter." When Karla would have protested, he placed a finger over her lips. "That you put so much thought and effort into this is all that I care about."

"How is it you always know the right thing to say?" Karla asked feeling slightly mollified. She should have known Tristan would not care that everything went wrong. He was one of those few men where the thought mattered more than the size of the present.

Tristan laughed and kissed her pout away.

"I can give you an entrée, but that's all." Karla pulled out a tray of artistically presented finger foods. "You can pick dinner since this was supposed to be your night."

Tristan smiled at her ruined efforts. He had never dated a woman who went to so much effort for him. His parents certainly never did anything that could be considered loving or romantic for the other.

* * *

Karla stood in the kitchen stirring the sauce silently rehearsing what she was going to say to Tristan. She did not know how he would react to her announcement; she just hoped he didn't walk out on her. 

She was vaguely aware of him moving about in the other room, setting the table. When he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, she jumped before relaxing against his chest. He placed a kiss on her ear before dipping a finger in the sauce and nodding in approval.

Karla forced herself to eat dinner as though nothing was bothering her. She would occasionally catch Tristan watching her, and would pin a smile on her face and change the conversation.

When Tristan began to rise to take the plates to the kitchen, Karla stayed him by grabbing his hand.

"Tristan." He took both of her hands in his and began to rub his thumb over the back of them. "Tristan, I'm pregnant," she whispered.

He stared at her for a few moments. "Pregnant? Are you sure?"

"Yes," she responded carefully. She could not tell if he was pleased or not with her news. Judging by his expression, he wasn't sure either. "I haven't had my doctor confirm it yet; I wanted to tell you first."

"I am the father?" Tristan asked automatically, then instantly regretted his question. Karla's face fell, her eyes filled with pain as she quickly pulled her hands from his.

"Of course you are!" she yelled before beginning to cry. She went to the kitchen and began to rinse the dishes.

Tristan stared at Karla from his position at the table, unable to comprehend the news that Karla had just told him. It did not seem possible. He wanted to shut himself away for a while and decide how he felt about the possibility of becoming a father.

When he saw Karla's shoulders shaking with tears – that he had caused – he was out of his chair and in the kitchen to offer her some comfort.

"Karla, I'm sorry; I didn't mean that how it sounded. I know you're nothing like my mother," he said softly, his voice shaking as he turned her around to face him. He wiped the tears from her face. "How did it happen? I thought you were on the pill."

Karla shrugged out of his grip. "I've been sick."

"And you're pregnant?"

She nodded as she put the leftovers in the fridge and began to tidy the kitchen.

"With my child; I'm going to be a father?"

She nodded again.

Tristan didn't know what to say. A father! He was going to be a father and Karla was carrying his child. He never wanted to have children or a partner or wife but now he found himself overjoyed with how his life was turning out.

Tristan pulled Karla into his arms and kissed her gently. He could feel her resistance begin to melt away when she realised he was finally reacting as he should have.

"Are you happy, Tristan?" Karla asked as she stepped away to look at him.

"I am happy," he whispered as he pulled her back to him. "I promise I will take the very best care of you and our baby."

Karla smiled sadly as he kissed her. He promised that he would look after them, but still had not told her that he loved. In time, she promised herself as she wrapped her arms around his neck, closing her mind to the pain of those three little words he still had not said.

* * *

It had been a little over a week since Karla told him she was pregnant. They seemed to have developed a silent understanding, but still, Tristan hadn't told her that he loved her. She was certain he did, but longed to hear him say it. 

She went to the doctor two days ago, and she had confirmed the pregnancy. Leaving the surgery, Tristan had not said a word. He grinned to himself the entire way home, the fingers of his right hand entwined with Karla's.

Karla sat at her desk attempting to ignore the nausea that threatened to rise in her throat. It seemed that since she had had her pregnancy officially confirmed that the severity of the sickness she felt in the mornings multiplied. She heard Tristan leave his office and spun around on her chair to smile at him. She instantly regretted that movement. In an effort to distract herself, she plunged into responding to the mail and emails.

Tristan set a cup of tea in front of Karla before settling himself on the corner of her desk. "Ginger tea. It's supposed to be very good for morning sickness." He smiled like a little boy at her.

"Thank you," Karla said as she sipped the hot tea. "I forgot to tell you, finance for the property on Rivoli has been approved. The building inspection is being done sometime today. You should know if it's going ahead by five."

"You are the best assistant I've had," Tristan said as he kissed her head.

Karla smiled at his compliment. "You're just saying that because you share my bed," she teased.

"Not true!" he responded in a light tone as he checked the other realtors were busy before he placed a kiss on her lips.

With a laugh, Karla shooed him back to his office and returned her attention to the letters in front of her. She sipped her tea as she considered the response, the nausea slowly receding.

It was late in the afternoon when Tristan buzzed Karla on the intercom and asked her to join him in his office.

"What is it, Tristan?" she asked when she entered the office, expecting to see him pacing the room running through a letter he would dictate to her.

"I bought you something." He pointed to a small box on his desk.

Karla crossed the room and opened the box. She smiled and her eyes filled with tears before she sat on his lap and kissed him.

"I mean it, Karla," he told her seriously. "I love you."

"I know. I love you, too," she whispered against his lips before she kissed him again.

She picked up the box again and smiled at the small chocolate cake with a small chocolate plaque with _I love you_ on top.

"I'm going to keep this forever." She smiled as she carefully pulled the plaque off the cake before offering some of the cake to Tristan.

* * *

Karla struggled out of the lift carrying a painted terracotta pot with a small tree. She pushed open the door to the apartment and was surprised to see a vase of roses sitting in the entry. She carefully set the pot down and bent to smell the roses before going through the apartment searching for Tristan. 

She found him in the study working on a contract. Leaning over the back of his chair, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you for the roses."

"You're welcome," he replied with a smile as he turned his head to kiss her, and then spun the chair around to pull her onto his lap. He kissed her again.

"I have a present for you too."

Tristan tilted his head, his eyebrow raised as he indicated his interest. Grabbing his hand, and leading him to the foyer Karla stood proudly in front of the plant.

"Sweetheart?" Tristan asked carefully, certain he was missing something crucial.

"It's a growing tree! As the tree grows, our baby grows."

He considered the idea of a 'growing tree' for a few moments, aware of Karla watching him nervously awaiting his reaction. It was very artistic and abstract – something Karla would think of. With a smile, he decided he liked the idea of having something tangible; Karla was not yet showing any physical signs of pregnancy.

Karla's hopeful smile faded as she waited for Tristan's reaction.

Tristan pulled her into his arms and kissed her. "It's beautiful, sweetheart."

"I was afraid you'd think it silly," she confessed as she hugged him close.

Tristan shook his head. They stood like that for a few minutes, taking the opportunity to be close to each other.

"I forgot to tell you; we have dinner reservations at eight. Would you wear that black dress you wore to drinks with Mr Montgomery and his wife? That dress looks gorgeous on you."

Karla looked up at Tristan, suddenly feeling that she had been transported back in time again. His selection of her clothing was a very old fashioned thing to do and a right only given to husbands. She smiled as she imagined being married to Tristan but dismissed it. Tristan did not seem like the marrying type – not after the things his parents went through.

For dinner, the couple went to one of the restaurants in the Bois and Karla wore the black dress which had so impressed Tristan the first time. They enjoyed a romantic candlelit dinner, sitting over the three courses and champagne for a few hours before paying and making their way back to their apartment.

Tristan led Karla through the woods. Their fingers were entwined as they walked along the moonlit paths. When they reached one of the lakes, Tristan paused to admire the moon reflecting off the still surface. He wrapped his arms tightly around Karla, his hands resting lightly over their baby.

Until he met the artistic Karla who thought of gifts such as the growing tree, he would never have taken the time to enjoy a simple sight of the moon on water. But Karla had taught him to appreciate the small unusual things like the joys of icing on cakes. Most of all, she had taught him that not every relationship would end like his parents' and that it was okay to smile.

"Karla," he whispered against her ear, causing her to shiver, "Are you happy in our apartment?"

Noting the uncertainty in his voice, Karla spun around in his arms and looked at him. They were both standing in the light of the moon and Karla was able to watch the expressions play across his face. There was certainty, nervousness and a determination.

"I love you Tristan, I don't care where we live. But yes, I do like our apartment."

Her answer seemed to please him and he placed a kiss on her forehead. "You know I love you. I cannot imagine what my life would be like if you were not in it. Will you marry me?

Karla smiled beatifically at him before tightly wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his lips.

* * *

Tristan considered Karla as she stood in the bathroom brushing her hair. She looked up to see him watching her and smiled brilliantly in the mirror.

He was shocked to see her eyes shining with love for him. He returned her smile, knowing his eyes reflected the same emotion. He was so in love with his fiancé that the thought of losing her, or ending up as his parents had terrified him.

If Karla noticed the look of panic that briefly crossed Tristan's amber eyes, she did not let on. Instead, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and rested her head against his chest before tilting her head back as an invitation for a kiss.

As he held her close to his heart, Tristan swore to himself he would never lose this passion he shared with her now. In twenty years time, he wanted to kiss her as though they had only just met – not sleep in a separate bed.

Karla lay sleeping in his arms as Tristan replayed everything she had said to him for a clue what he could do to keep their love alive. He smiled to himself and placed a kiss in her hair.


	13. About Time

**About Time**

"In this one, you can see all the way down the river," Mya said as she pointed to a photograph then sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this! You've been to London."

"Not in eight years and certainly not for my honeymoon."

"You need to hurry up and get married. That way, I can be your maid of honour and you can drag your husband to London. Maybe you could get Tristan to you take next time he goes away."

Karla bit her cheek to prevent herself from smiling. No one knew that she was engaged to Tristan. That would no longer be the case if she didn't change the subject – quickly. "The office would fall apart if I wasn't there."

The conversation turned to the shopping in London and life as a newlywed.

"I was thinking about going to high energy tomorrow, did you want to come with?" Mya asked suddenly with a bright smile.

"I can't," Karla answered too quickly, and then she set her cutlery down with extra care. Feeling the need to cover her hasty response, she quickly thought of a lie. "Tristan and I are going through a rough patch at the moment; we need time together to sort it out."

"That was what you said last week."

"Mya, things are complicated between us. I've told you a bit about his childhood, but there's more to it than that."

Mya pouted as she accepted her friend's excuse. The only thing that had ever stopped Karla from going to a class at the gym was her art. This new 'man' excuse was different, and not quite right.

* * *

"Tristan, are you awake?" Karla asked softly as she lay staring up at the ceiling early one morning.

She had been awake for the last hour trying to ignore the nausea she felt most mornings and find a comfortable position so she could go back to sleep.

"What is it?" he asked as he stroked her forehead. He too had been awake, disturbed by her restlessness.

"I was thinking you might like to invite your parents to our wedding," she suggested quietly as she sat up so she could watch his expression carefully.

"No." He pulled his hand away from her and began to withdraw.

"Tris don't," Karla whispered as she grabbed his hand and held it against her stomach. "It's your decision, but I thought it might be a way for you all to forget what's happened in the past. You trust that I will never do anything to hurt you the way your mother hurt your father. Inviting your parents is just another step in letting go of the hurt."

"Karla, you don't know what you're asking."

"I do," she countered. "I won't say anything more. I'll leave the decision up to you."

She placed a kiss on his lips and snuggled against his chest for a few minutes before they had to get up for work.

* * *

Karla raised her hand and watched her diamond engagement ring catch the light. Tristan saw her admiring her new jewellery and smiled. Catching her hand, he kissed each finger, then the back of her hand before entwining their fingers. Karla moved closer to him and his warmth under the blanket.

The pair had gone out in the late afternoon to find an engagement ring. It seemed they would never be able to find a ring suitable for Tristan's fiancée to wear. Something was always wrong with it; the clarity was too low, the stone was too small or not the right shape. Eventually they found the ring they were both looking for. It was a vintage engagement ring with a large princess cut diamond set at an angle, surrounded by small brilliants set into the arms and the gallery.

Following the shopping expedition, they went to a small café for an early dinner followed by a cruise along the Seine to see the Paris lights. Karla stood by the rail as she watched the softly glowing bridges and buildings pass by her.

"Are you sure you're warm enough?" Tristan asked as the wind picked up and the night air turned colder.

Karla nodded against his chest as she wrapped Tristan's arms tighter around her and settled back against his chest. Tristan nuzzled his nose against her cheek before kissing it.

"Paris has always been my home, and I have never been along the river. I never realised just how much I have been missing until you showed me," Karla said as she turned around in his arms, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I cannot tell you how much I've enjoyed showing you," Tristan said thickly as he pulled her closer against his body and lowered his lips to hers.

They returned to Karla's apartment just over an hour later after stopping at the bakery for dessert. The pair had cuddled up under a thick blanket and shared an éclair before sitting in a comfortable silence.

"Are you sure you still want to wait until we tell Mya about our baby before you tell her we're engaged?" Tristan asked as he tucked the blanket around her shoulders.

Karla nodded against his chest.

"How are you going to hide your ring from her?"

Karla bit her lip. How _was_ she going to hide the news from her friend?

* * *

"_Married_!" Mya cried as she jumped up from her chair and rushed around the table to embrace her friend. "I am so happy for you! I cannot believe you have finally decided to get married! About time!"

Tristan and Karla had invited both Tom and Victoria and Mya and Aleksandr to their apartment for a small dinner party. Karla could tell her friend was suspicious as to the reason for the invitation, especially when she heard that Tristan was inviting his friend and his wife. If Tom had any similar suspicions he certainly knew Tristan well enough not to say anything.

Tristan sat at the table with his fiancée and the two other couples. It was the first time that he had ever been to a dinner with someone who meant something more to him than just a partner. This time with Karla and their two married friends he felt as though he actually fitted in with them.

"Congratulations." Aleksandr offered Tristan his hand in a much manlier, but no less sincere way. "I know you and Karla will be very happy together. She is a wonderful friend to Mya; she will make you a wonderful wife."

"About damn time you got married," Tom said with a smile as he clapped Tristan on the shoulder. "The two of you are perfect for each other."

"I do not need to ask you to be my maid of honour, do I, Mya?" Karla asked when she was returned to her seat next to Tristan after accepting Tom and Victoria's felicitations.

Mya frowned at her friend. "Of course not! I'm offended you even had to ask me."

"You're all free next weekend, aren't you?" Karla asked in an off-handed manner as she took a sip of her drink.

Mya glanced at her husband to confirm that their weekend was indeed free.

"Good," Tristan said in response to Mya's nod. "We would like you both to attend our wedding next weekend."

Tom raised a brow in mute enquiry. Tristan was known for taking matters into his own hands and ensuring he got his own way, but even he was surprised by the speed the couple were moving at. Dating, engaged and married within the space of twelve months seemed fast, even for Tristan. Then again, he thought with a mental shrug, perhaps he was just excessively slow. After all he had dated Victoria for five years before he asked her to marry him.

"You're getting married next weekend? Why?" Mya watched her friend closely as she and her fiancé shared a speaking look.

"Yes. I'm pregnant," Karla whispered excitedly as she watched her friend jump up and run around the table to hug her again.

"I knew it. I thought you might have been, especially after the other week, but I didn't want to say anything unless I was wrong."

Karla smiled at Tristan. She reached for Tristan's hand and he automatically placed a kiss on the back of it. "I'm thirteen weeks; I won't be able to hide my pregnancy much longer, which is why we're getting married next weekend."

"We wanted to wait until the second trimester, and make sure Karla didn't miscarry before we told anyone," Tristan informed them before anyone – particularly Mya – could accuse them of keeping secrets.

* * *

Both Tristan and Karla took the entire week off work to arrange the wedding at such short notice. Tristan was left with a list of names and numbers and the task of inviting them to their wedding while Karla and Mya were off shopping.

He was beginning to think he was left with all the unpleasant tasks when Karla returned from her shopping trip carrying several shopping bags and a coat bag. She took them into one of the bedrooms before collapsing on Tristan's lap with a sigh.

"I forgot how exhausting shopping with Mya can be," she said, her voice slurred with tiredness as she played with the buttons on his shirt. "I swear we went to every dress shop in Paris to find a dress we would both be happy with."

Tristan kissed the top of her head. "Did you find one for her? What about yourself?"

Karla laughed as she sat up straight to frown at him. "Yes, we found a dress for Mya; it's sky blue and a match to mine. But you'll have to wait until Saturday to see my dress." She kissed his lips before she settled her head on his chest again.

They discussed the plans for the wedding for a short time and decided that Karla would spend Thursday and Friday nights at Mya's before Karla stood and stretched. "I was thinking of having a shower and going to bed. I'll need your help to wash my back," she informed him with a smile.

* * *

"Stop worrying! Tristan will think you the most gorgeous woman ever," Mya promised as she and Karla stepped out of the car and paused at the doors of the church. "You look beautiful, Karla."

Karla smiled through her tears at her best friend before giving her a tight hug. When they stepped back, Mya brushed the tears away, careful not to smudge her makeup.

"Thank you, Mya."

As Karla entered the church, the first thing she was aware of was Tristan and the brilliant smile he gave her when he saw her in her wedding dress. She had chosen an embroidered ivory silk dress with a low neckline with a scalloped hem and long train. This dress was not that different from the ones she wore when she was living under the Opera House.

As she looked at their closest friends, she recognised everyone but four. Her smile brightened further as she realised that he had invited his parents and their spouses. Her eyes held Tristan's as she joined him at the altar. She had never expected that a year ago Tristan, would be showing any emotion, let alone smiling and crying with happiness.

Later at the dinner they decided to have instead of a traditional reception, Tristan introduced his parents to his new wife – separately.

"Tristan's told me a lot about you, Karla," his father, Malcolm said with a wink.

Shocked, Karla looked at her new husband for an explanation. She was nestled safely against his side with his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

"When I called him a few weeks ago, asking him to our wedding, he demanded to know everything about you. He refused to tell me if he would come or not until I told him what he wanted to know."

"Oh."

"You're well suited to each other," Malcolm told them. "I know you'll be happy together."

Tristan watched Malcolm and his wife find another couple to talk to before he gathered Karla into his arms and kissed her. This was the first time since they had left the church that they were able to steal a few minutes alone. He raised his head, resting his forehead against hers and sighed.

"Let's get this out of the way; I'll introduce you to my mother." He entwined their fingers together and led her to where his mother was sitting.

"Sweetheart, this is my mother, Janice and her husband Gregory," Tristan performed the introductions stiffly, keeping Karla close to his side.

"I cannot tell you how delighted I am Tristan has finally married!" Janice cried as she embraced her daughter-in-law. "I never thought he'd marry."

"Tristan says you are an artist," Gregory said as he indicated she should sit down with them.

"A struggling one, yes," Karla responded modestly.

"My wife lost her muse a few months ago, but she is extremely close to finding it again," Tristan answered for her as she handed her a glass of juice. He loved calling her 'his wife'. She was his now. Judging from the soft smile and the glow in her eyes, Karla loved hearing it.

"And a singer," Gregory continued.

"I used to perform with my father, Charlie Beaumont before he died."

"Charlie Beaumont?" Janice tapped her finger against her lips as she considered the name. She was certain the name was familiar. "Yes, I remember now! I saw your father perform years ago!" She paused for a moment as she recalled the concert years ago. "You sang _Promises_ together."

Karla placed her hand entwined with Tristan's on her stomach before nodding nervously. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of her husband's mother seeing her perform as a teenager.

* * *

At the hotel they would be staying at for the night before flying to Venice the next afternoon, Tristan and Karla were curled up together on the bed discussing their day between caresses and kisses.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you looked today, my darling wife?" Tristan asked as he stroked her cheek.

Karla smiled. She turned to kiss his palm. "I think you may have mentioned it. I'm pleased you invited your parents, Tristan," Karla said after a pause.

"I think they were too. I may be able to have a relationship with them now. Ten years has changed us all a lot."

Karla nodded in agreement and cuddled closer to her husband of eight and a half hours.

"I'll have to remember to thank Mya her wonderful wedding present," Tristan said against Karla's ear as he stroked the strap of her pink and brown chemise Mya had bought Christine off her shoulder.

"Tristan!" Karla laughed in surprise.

Any further comments were prevented when Tristan lowered his mouth to her, his hands caressing her waist and breast. Karla sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck as she surrendered to his attention. A sudden thought occurred to Karla and she pushed against his shoulders.

"You didn't tell your mother about our pregnancy, did you, Tristan?" she asked as she frowned at him.

Tristan closed his eyes as he fought to control himself before answering Karla's random question. He kissed her forehead, kissing the frown away. "No, I swear." He kissed her again. "But she's a woman; you all seem to have a natural ability to tell if another woman is pregnant."

Karla considered that for a moment. Janice had not said anything about them having a child, but the look she gave her seemed to say she was convinced she would become a grandmother. Noticing his wife's preoccupation, Tristan slipped from the bed only to return a minute later with a large piece of their wedding cake.

The newlyweds took turns feeding each other the cake from the comfort of the large bed just as they had done at Mya and Aleksandr's wedding. Tristan made sure she had the last piece of cake with the greatest amount of icing on it.

"Save the best to last," Karla whispered against his lips before she kissed him deeply and flicked the light off.

* * *


	14. Explaining the Journey

**Don't Cry Out Loud **

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay between updates - life kept getting in the way! We are now at the end of Karla and Tristan's story, and it's with mixed feelings that I end my fic. It was very hard for me to say goodbye to the de Valences.

Thank you to everyone who has read my fic and taken the time to review it. I love hearing from you and hearing your ideas - some of which _I _didn't think of!**  
**

* * *

**Explaining the Journey**

Tristan and Karla returned from their honeymoon two weeks later, slightly tanned, contented and relieved to be home. They had taken three weeks off from work and therefore spent their last week off work settling into the notion of returning to reality.

Karla was now sixteen weeks, and was unable to hide the fact that she was pregnant. Tristan loved Karla's glow and her rounded tummy and the idea of his child growing inside her. He would often take advantage of the opportunity just to touch her stomach and marvel at the life inside.

The moment the office closed at the end of the work day the Thursday Tristan and Karla had returned from their honeymoon, Karla dashed off to her singing lesson. She returned home a little over an hour later looking dazed.

Noticing her bewildered expression, Tristan immediately pulled her into his arms and held her until she was prepared to talk.

"Jonathan wants me to record an album," Karla mumbled against Tristan's chest.

Not expecting such a statement, Tristan took a step back from her. "He wants you to record?"

Karla nodded. "He thinks I'm ready. We have talked about the idea a bit, but I wanted to talk to you first."

Feeling as shocked as his wife, Tristan pulled Karla down onto his lap as he listened to her.

"Jonathan suggested that I take the time before the baby to plan and record my album and release it a few months after the birth. Then, when we are ready, I can do a small tour to promote my CD."

Tristan looked horrified at the notion of Karla touring the world. "You seem to have this planned out rather well. Where do I fit in?"

Karla bit her lip at the tone of his voice. "You will come with me, of course! It isn't uncommon for celebrities to tour the world with their partners and children."

"What about de Valence Realty? Am I supposed to leave it under the care of Justin for months on end?"

She tightened her grip on his neck. She had not thought about Tristan's business; she had been so caught up in the thought of pursuing her childhood dream that she had forgotten what it would cost Tristan.

"Tris, this is my chance to do what my father always wanted for me to do. You said that Papa would be happy that I was doing something that I wanted to do in my painting. He would understand my reasons for not going to the Conservatorium. But I still do not know what I am supposed to be painting. Perhaps it's time for me to go back to my singing."

"You want to do this, don't you, sweetheart?" he asked gently as he pulled her close.

Karla nodded against his chest.

* * *

Two months before her due date, Karla was now officially on maternity leave. She had finished her album. Tristan, Karla and James her manager decided that instead of exhausting herself and recording all sixteen songs from her childhood Karla would make a series and finish the album a month ahead of schedule.

Karla spent the fifth and sixth months of her pregnancy working at de Valence Realty part-time while recording her album. She would head into the studio at nine every morning, record as much as possible before lunch then finish the day at the office. Every night after dinner, they would curl up on the couch together to watch television. Within ten minutes of sitting down, Karla would be asleep in Tristan's arms. Tired of watching his wife exhaust herself with her two jobs, Tristan brought forward her leave a month early at de Valence Realty.

"My mother rang the office looking for you this afternoon," Tristan said as he handed Karla a glass of juice and sent her to sit down while he cooked dinner.

"Why?" Karla asked shocked her mother-in-law would be ringing her.

"She thought you were still working; I haven't given her our home number," Tristan answered vaguely as he moved about the kitchen.

"That's not what I meant. Why did she want to talk to me?"

"She would like to catch up with you for lunch and take you baby shopping. The message is in my coat pocket along with her number."

"I do not know your mother!" Karla protested as she went and retrieved the paper. "What am I supposed to say to her?" Karla paused as she read the message, glaring at her husband's back. "Will you come too?"

Tristan's head snapped up from the cutting board to stare at his wife as if she had lost all sense. He had hoped to leave the girly things to Karla and avoid seeing his mother. He was more than happy only seeing her on family occasions and have very little to do with her otherwise.

Karla's eyes were wide with apprehension. With a reluctant sigh, Tristan nodded. "Lunch only. I will _not_ go shopping with the two of you."

* * *

Janice found it difficult not to stare at the couple as they lunched along the Champs Élysées. She had only briefly seen the connection and thoughtfulness that surrounded her son and his wife at their wedding a few months ago. Now, it was more pronounced with Tristan doing everything to ensure both Karla and the baby were happy. She loved that her son was a caring husband who actually showed much more emotion than the eighteen year old boy who had walked out of the house.

It was just the little things the pair did that made her wish that she had that relationship with Malcolm and now Gregory. When the waiter brought out the drinks, Karla automatically handed Tristan a sachet of sugar for his coffee.

"You finished at de Valence Realty a few weeks ago," Janice said, interested in knowing why Karla finished work early.

She nodded. "Tristan brought my maternity leave at the office forward so I could focus on my album and get that finished before the baby was born."

"An album? Did she tell you Tristan?" Janice looked at her son.

"Yes," he answered blandly. He could now remember another reason why his parents' marriage didn't last – they did not talk. "Karla and I spoke about the idea of her recording in depth before she made any commitments."

Karla grabbed Tristan's hand and squeezed it. She could see he was beginning to tire of his mother and her assumption that she and Tristan had the same relationship she had with her ex-husband.

"Tristan has been wonderful and supportive," Karla said with a smile. "He encouraged me to finish early at the office so I could focus on my singing. The album should be out in about four months."

The trio spoke generally while they waited for the cakes to be served. When they were set before them, Tristan took his saucer and cut the cake down the middle, and in half once more before handing it to Karla. Again, Janice was amazed at the simple action that spoke volumes.

"I have to go," Tristan said with false regret as he looked at his watch. "I have to show a client a house."

Janice made her goodbyes and waited for the couple to part.

Tristan assisted Karla from her chair and cupped her face and kissed her gently.

"Liar," Karla said against his lips. "You just don't want to come shopping with us."

He smiled as he placed another kiss on her forehead. "True. I will see you tonight."

Karla kissed him once more before joining Janice as they made their way to the department store.

* * *

Karla stared blindly out at the passing traffic. Tristan would be home in about half an hour, and yet she was not even remotely close to being ready for dinner with his clients.

She could not believe what had happened. The day had stared out so well.

"I think I prefer you not coming to work with me. It makes it a lot easier to kiss you goodbye," Tristan finished quickly when he saw Karla's face fall.

Karla smiled in agreement. It was much easier – but less cunning on Tristan's behalf – to stand in the entrance hall and kiss him goodbye. When she had been working in the office for him, Tristan would order a coffee the second he put his briefcase down. Karla would quickly make the drink and, just before she stepped out of his office, Tristan would kiss her.

"Don't forget we have dinner with the Hansels tonight," Tristan reminded Karla before kissing her again and quickly leaving before he decided to stay home for the day.

Tristan left, leaving Karla to curl up on the lounge and read. When she saw Leroux's book in the shop yesterday, she had to buy it and see for herself what she and Tristan had changed while they were in the past. It was not until the Masquerade the Karla noticed differences between the two versions.

Christine did not meet Raoul. The Phantom did not kidnap Christine during _Faust_. Raoul and the Daroga were not tortured. Christine did not marry Raoul. It was the epilogue that caught Karla's attention.

Tristan watched his wife staring out the window at nothing. He had been home for a few minutes, and at first was annoyed that she had obviously forgotten about dinner. But when he saw her face he knew instantly that something was wrong. He rushed across the room and clasped her hands in his.

"What is it? Is it the baby?"

Karla shook her head and handed him the novel. "The epilogue."

Tristan flicked to the end of the book and began to read.

_Upon closer inspection of the curious house on the lake, several documents were found that can leave the reader in no doubt as to how the Opera Ghost ended his life. In a large chest at the end of the coffin bed, along with countless paintings of the Miss Daaé was a marriage certificate for Christine Daaé and Erik. The birth certificates of Amelie Gala, Ballard Alain, and Marguerite Desiree were also lovingly stored away with their parents' marriage certificate._

Tristan closed the book and looked expectantly down at his wife, certain he was missing something.

"My middle name is Marguerite!" Karla cried, unable to believe that he missed the significance of what he had just read. "Amelie, Alain and Marguerite are all family names. Every generation in my father's family has all three names! Tristan, don't you get it? I am descended from Christine and Erik! I have to be!"

Tristan would have laughed at the notion if he thought Karla was joking. His wife was the great-great-great granddaughter of the Phantom of the Opera. The more he thought about it the more sense it made.

She looked and sounded like Christine. It also made sense in an odd way that whatever force had enticed them both down to the bottom of the opera house that evening was drawn to them based on some unknown connection. Most likely, the Phantom desperate to be with his love was drawn to the woman who looked like his love and also shared her genes.

"I am not mad, Tristan!" she said indignantly when he did not say anything.

"I know you're not, sweetheart. It makes sense when you think about it." He pulled her into his arms and held her close.

"You don't think I'm crazy? I thought I was crazy when I realised."

"You are not crazy," he said earnestly as he lowered slightly to look her in the eyes. "However, I would like to double check your theory; I don't want you to believe something that may not be true."

"You'll help me look, won't you, Tristan?" she asked quietly as she hugged him tightly.

"I promise." He placed a kiss on her head before looking anxiously at the clock, aware that they would have to leave shortly if they were to arrive at dinner on time. "Are you up to coming to dinner with me tonight, or would you rather stay home?"

Karla glanced at the time before struggling out of Tristan's arms.

"We have to leave in twenty minutes," he said, pre-empting her question as he watched her move down the hall and rush to get ready.

* * *

Karla critically examined her reflection in the full length mirror.

"I'm putting on weight!"

Tristan raised an eyebrow at his wife's outburst. He looked at her, loving what he saw. She had a perfectly rounded stomach and had naturally put on a bit of weight, but she was curvier and prettier than ever. His wife loved the opportunity classes at the gym provided for both exercise and gossip and Tristan could tell she was missing it.

"I cannot wear this. I'm fat!" Karla said sadly as she began to pull off the wrap dress she was wearing to the baby shower.

Tristan stilled her hands and pulled the dress back down around her knees. "You are not fat. You are pregnant and you are sexy."

"I am _not_ sexy."

"All women are sexy in their own way, Karla." Tristan turned her to face him. His amber eyes were filled with concern and frustration.

Karla laughed humourlessly at him.

"I do not see you as you see yourself, sweetheart. I see my wife – the woman I love – carrying my child." Tristan's hands moved from her shoulders to cup her face. "I see how beautiful and healthy you look. You _are_ sexy and most definitely are not fat. You look gorgeous in that dress. If we were not going out, I would take you to bed."

Karla stared up at her husband with teary eyes, knowing that he meant every word. The way he was looking deeply into her eyes, willing her to believe everything he said made her nod slightly. She hugged him for a moment before taking a determined step back to check her make-up.

"Do you know what Mya and your mother have planned?" Karla asked nervously as she sat down on the bed next to Tristan so that he could put her shoes on.

Tristan shook his head. He was as nervous about the party as Karla. "No, but the sooner we leave, the sooner we can find out."

The guests of honour arrived at the baby shower an hour later. Karla had given her friend and mother-in-law clear instructions that there would be _no_ games or anything along those lines. She did not care about the food served or the theme. She just wanted to celebrate the upcoming birth of her baby with her family and friends.

When Karla and Tristan entered Gregory's house outside Paris, they were both amazed at the mass of pink and blue balloons that floated across the ceiling. Karla and Tristan had both decided that they wanted the sex of the baby to be a surprise and decided to wait until the birth to find out if they had a son or daughter. Although, Tristan was silently aware of the bet at work; apparently the odds were five to two it would be a boy.

Karla was relieved the shower was free of all games. She was impressed at the sophisticated gathering Mya and Janice had pulled off together. It was just like a Victorian afternoon tea, she mused to herself with a delighted smile as she selected a jam and cream scone off the table.

"You are amazing!" Karla cried as she awkwardly hugged her friend. "I was afraid that it would have stupid games that we'd be forced to play."

"Like drinking soft drink out of a bottle?" Mya asked dryly. "I wouldn't make you do that."

Karla laughed at her friend's disgusted expression. The two chatted for a few minutes with several other guests.

"I think Janice wants to talk to me." Mya indicated the older woman who was clearly beginning to fret in the kitchen. She excused herself and went inside to join her.

Karla watched as her friend went to join her husband's mother, her mind imagining a host of terrible things the two had planned.

"They've done well," Tristan said as he stood next to her, his arm going about her waist. "From what I've heard there is a surprise which I'm not sure if we're going to like."

Karla turned to respond when the music which had been playing in the background was turned off and Mya came back outside with a large cake. She smiled at her friend and placed it on the table and motioned the guests to gather around.

"But before you cut the cake, we all have a gift for both of you," Mya said with a brilliant smile.

Janice came outside with a large canvas and handed it to the couple. Tristan accepted the gift with a nervous smile and flipped it over. Karla squealed with delight and hugged the two organisers.

Tristan was still trying to decide whether he liked the canvas. Photographs of both him and Karla had been printed onto the canvas and all their guests had signed the border. The gift was unusual which explained why Karla liked it so much.

It would not be right if his creative Karla had a normal baby shower.

* * *

Karla pulled the envelope out of the letter box and felt the blood drain from her face and the adrenaline begin to pump through her body. The envelope bore the stamp of the Family History Library and contained the records that she had requested three weeks ago.

She had called her aunt in America the day after she had read the book and asked her for any information that she could give her. Her father's sister was intrigued by the sudden questioning and was determined to uncover the motivation.

Karla sighed. _Damned Beaumonts!_ She had forgotten how stubborn they all were. "I am pregnant and I wanted to draw up the family tree for our baby."

"You're pregnant?" Aunt Georgie cried. Her favourite niece had kept news like that from her? "And the father?"

"Is my husband," Karla responded quickly.

Tristan, who had been sitting by her side silently offering his support, glanced up at his wife. She smiled at him before rolling her eyes.

Much as she would have liked to avoid the interrogation she knew was coming, Karla could not prevent the series of questions her aunt fired at her. In ten minutes, the older woman had learnt everything there was to know about Karla, Tristan, their apartment, and their baby.

"Now, Georgie," Karla said on a sigh, "Please, I need to know all about our family. Would you ring around and ask everyone for me? I need to know every person who was in our family; when they were born, when they died, who they married."

"Karla, is there something you're not telling me?" Georgie had always been amazingly astute.

"Aunt Georgie!" she cried in mock innocence. "I would never keep anything from you!"

Tristan laughed before he was able to disguise it as a discreet cough. Karla turned her attention to her husband and swatted him on the shoulder before finishing her call with her aunt.

Nine days after the call an email arrived with a scan of the Beaumont family tree. Examining it, Karla – and Tristan – was convinced that she was decent from the Phantom of the Opera.

Karla stood in the elevator and tore open the envelope with copies of official records. Erik and Christine Daaé had three children. Nothing new. Erik and Christine had nine grandchildren; that was new information that Georgie had not been able to uncover. The department was unable – unwilling, Karla thought angrily –to offer her any more information.

However, when she compared the information gathered by Aunt Georgie and the Family History Library, they seemed to match. She could remember her grandmother telling tales from her youth and her father who had died in World War II. The name and dates for Karla's Great-Grandfather fitted.

Now that she had this information, which she, Tristan and her aunt her spent weeks searching for, Karla did not know what to do with it. For her own peace of mind, she could rest knowing that she _was_ descent from Erik and Christine. Her journey to the past made sense now. But she did not know what to do with it in the grander scheme of things.

* * *

Karla bowed to the audience a final time before the curtains fell on the first act of her concert in London. This was the first leg of her European tour promoting her new album _Daddy's Girl._ Tristan had not joined her in England. They decided it would be better for him to stay at home with Sera who was sick.

Karla began to undress as she made her way to the dressing room. She grabbed the phone and called Tristan.

"Hi, sweetheart," Tristan said, a smile evident in his voice. "How is your concert going?"

Karla tried to smile at his support and enthusiasm. "I'm on intermission. I got an ovation."

Tristan could hear the sadness in her voice she was trying incredibly hard to disguise. His mind was already on the difficulty of flying to London that night to support Karla. This was the first time Karla had been away from Tristan and Sera since her birth several months ago. Although it was only for two nights, it was obvious Karla was finding the separation difficult. Tristan had been enjoying the time with his daughter, but it was clear they were both missing Karla.

They chatted about Sera for fifteen minutes. Karla was desperate to know what she ate, how long she slept, how she was feeling and how both she and her daddy were coping without her.

Tristan could hear Karla's dresser telling her she needed to change and prepare for the next act.

"I have to go," Karla said, her throat tightening with tears.

Tristan wanted nothing more than to hold her and promise everything would be alright. "Sweetheart. You will be home tomorrow afternoon; Sera and I will be there, waiting for you at the airport. You have done such a wonderful job with your album and tour. You can get through the next few songs. If you want to call me when you're finished, I'm here."

"I love you, Tristan," Karla whispered.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

* * *

Karla walked through the doors of the Paris airport with a relieved sigh. She had been away from home for only a weekend, yet it felt like months. Tears began to fall down her cheeks when she saw Tristan step forward from the crowd with Sera. Karla all but threw herself into his arms, clinging to his neck tightly as she kissed him desperately.

"I missed you so much! I missed both of you so much!"

"I know, sweetheart," he said as he wiped the tears away with his thumb. "Let's get you home, and then we can talk."

Karla nodded as she took Sera and held her tightly against her breast. Tristan kissed her hair and pulled her against his side as he led her down to the car.

Karla awoke a few hours later to find both Tristan and Sera had joined her in having a nap; she had not slept the night before. She had spoken to Tristan the entire way back to the hotel and had cried much of the night.

A loud knock on the door caused Karla to reluctantly move from Tristan's side. She was surprised to see Mya and Aleksandr at the door. The surprise apparently showed on her face.

"Tristan called and asked if we'd take Sera while the two of you talked," Mya explained as she entered the apartment.

"Thank you for doing this, Mya," Tristan said entering the entrance hall, carrying the sleeping Sera in his arms. "Everything you'll need is already in her bag. Her medicine is in the front pocket. We'll be over to pick her up in a couple of hours."

"If you want us to look after her for the night, just call," Aleksandr said. He could see the tension and desperation between the couple and wanted them to do whatever necessary to resolve it. Seeing her friend so upset troubled Mya, and Aleksandr worried about her and the baby Mya was carrying.

"Thank you," Karla said, neither accepting nor rejecting the offer.

Karla kissed Sera goodbye. She hugged Tristan tightly before breaking down again.

"I cannot do that again, Tristan. I cannot go away without you and Sera. I missed you so badly that I wanted to forget about the second act and fly home!" she cried between hiccupping gasps for air.

"I know, sweetheart," Tristan said gently as he carried her to the sitting room. "I could hear how upset you were last night. You know I would have come with you if Sera hadn't been sick."

"I know that," Karla said as she kissed his hand.

"Sera and I will join you next weekend when you go to Germany," Tristan promised softly as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"I cannot expect you to drop everything here to join me on tour; you have open houses and the like on weekends. I want Sera to grow up like a normal child and go to school and have friends. I never went to a proper school; I was always privately tutored. I don't want that for Sera."

Tristan could feel her sadness and frustration. He could feel the statement she was hinting at, silently saying. She had made her decision, but was nervous about verbalising it. He hugged her tight and placed a kiss on her head.

"Sweetheart?"

"I was stupid to think I could do this!" she cried as she stood and began to pace. "I thought I could have everything; a husband, a baby and fame. I cannot do it without you, Tristan. And I cannot ask you to leave your work every weekend."

Tristan grasped her shoulders and spun her around to face him. "Say it then, Karla!"

"I'm cancelling my tour; I hated performing here, and especially in London. All I wanted was to be at home being normal." Karla began to cry again. "I want Sera to have a normal childhood!"

"It's alright, sweetheart. We'll call your agent tomorrow and tell him that you've decided not to continue the tour." Karla began to cry harder. "Sweetheart, you've made up your mind." Tristan felt Karla nod against his chest.

He moved to settle her back down on the lounge, but she clung to him. "Just hold me."

Tristan picked her up and carried her back to their bed where he cuddled her, stroking her hair in a soothing way. Karla wrapped her arms and legs tightly about his body, her head resting on his chest. When her stomach rumbled, Karla buried her face in his shoulder in embarrassment.

"When did you last eat?" Tristan demanded. He had seen slight changes in Karla's eating habits over the last few weeks and was worried by it. At first he put it down to nerves; she was touring Europe for the first time in nine years – by herself. But now, he realised it was something more.

"Before the concert."

Tristan's heart constricted at the thought of his wife going so long without food.

"We're going out for an early dinner and then we'll go and pick up Sera. I just want you to eat something; I don't care what it is."

"Tristan?" Karla waited for his attention before beginning. "Do you think James will be angry?"

Tristan looked down at Karla, his expression somewhat haughty. "Your manager would not dare."

* * *

To say that James was angry when Karla broke the news that she was cancelling her European tour was an understatement. James proved to be furious, even with Tristan present. But after an hour of talking and crying and watching the family interact together, he knew that Karla was right and she could not be expected to leave her family again.

"There will be damage," he warned.

Karla shrugged her shoulders disinterestedly. She had expected that. She did not think for a moment she could cancel her tour and not expect any repercussions. After the London debacle she did not overly care for her reputation or what people thought of her. All that mattered to her were her husband and daughter. "Do whatever needs to be done – so long as I can do it here in Paris."

James silently watched Karla grab her husband's hand tightly before fussing over her sleeping daughter. He looked at Tristan and swallowed nervously. He did not overly like Karla's husband, and his lack of emotion was unnerving. The man would not look away from him; James was forced to look away first.

"I will deal with this. I'm sorry London didn't go well, Karla," he said sincerely as he showed the couple out the door.

James sighed with relief and disappointment. Karla was a brilliant performer. Her voice was pure as it had been when she was sixteen – to think she had not used it in six years! She had an almost overwhelming presence despite her height disadvantage. He would be sad to see her leave the tour circuit. But, he realised, her family came first. He would have to do the best he could for her and keep her in Paris with her family.

And that was precisely what James did. A month later Karla performed two shows in Paris to compensate for the ones she did not do around Europe. The same procedure was carried out when Karla released her second album four years later.

* * *

Karla and Tristan stared at the paintings lining the walls of the gallery, enjoying a moment of calm before the owner of the gallery opened the doors to the invited guests. Three years after holding her last exhibition, Karla had a gallery full of original paintings waiting to be sold.

Tristan stood behind his wife, his hands resting protectively on her rounded stomach, their fingers entwined. The couple were expecting their second child.

"Karla!" Victoria and Tom were one of the first guests through the door. "These are incredible! I had no idea you were so talented."

"I told you she was good," Tristan said smugly as he pulled his wife against his side.

"I thought you were exaggerating and being a proper doting lover," Victoria defended herself.

Karla smiled and interrupted the bantering between the pair. "It means a lot that you are here, Vicky. Have a look around and if there's anything you like, grab it quick." Karla smiled as she watched the couple wander around examining the painting of famous couples though out the ages, both from history and fiction. To her, this new branch of work was inspired by her husband and showed the timeless, never ending and lasting power of love.

One particular painting was conspicuous in its absence; the painting which started it all. The painting of the Phantom of the Opera and his wife seated in their private box, with their gloved hands hidden in the shadows was carefully hanging in Tristan and Karla's bedroom.

"Ms Beaumont?"

"Mrs de Valence," Karla corrected the owner of the familiar voice. "How are you, Vanessa?"

"I am fine, thank you," Vanessa Wyatt responded, surprised by the artist's warmth. When she first met her, she thought the then Miss Beaumont was cold and hostile. She was pleased to see that her work and her temper had improved. She would definitely be giving her a glowing review in tomorrow's paper.

"What do you think of my work?"

With Tristan at her side, Karla felt more confident about her work and herself than she ever had. In the three or so years since her last less than perfect exhibition she had developed and had finally learnt to bare herself just as Tristan wanted her. Vanessa Wyatt's opinion still concerned her, but she had decided to treat her just like any other guest.

"It is beautiful. Quite lovely."

"I would like to introduce you to my husband, Tristan de Valence. Tristan, Vanessa Wyatt."

The couple exchanged greetings and Karla and Vanessa began speaking of her inspiration and the progress her career had made in recent years. At the first possible opportunity, Vanessa excused herself, collecting a glass of wine before perusing the paintings – many of which now had _sold_ stickers on the label.

Karla smiled to herself before standing on her toes to place a kiss on Tristan's cheek. She was certain the reviews in tomorrow's paper would be good, especially since Vanessa Wyatt had just purchased her own painting of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.

_**Romance Sells**_

_Three years ago, Karla de Valence, then Beaumont had lost her direction. Now, the young artist, singer and mother has moved on and delivered an art show beyond anyone's expectations._

_Gone are the architectural wonders of the world on dull days. Instead, they are replaced with original paintings of lovers from the stage, screen, literature and history. _

_Each canvas is thoroughly researched for historical accuracy and painted in exquisite detail. The portrait of Victoria and Albert taking tea has been painted in detail consistent with Osborne House, right down to the paintings on the walls. Unable to resist, this painting now hangs in my dining room._

_It is easy to see why de Valence credits her husband as her inspiration for such a different and beautiful subject matter. This shift in style suits her perfectly. The few remaining paintings from this exhibition can be found at the cafés throughout the Bois de Boulogne._

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

Henri Bellew, a budding historian shut the first draft of his book with a pleased smile. As part of the first book he was detailing the lives of the prominent aristocratic families in France, tracing their pedigree back as far as possible, hopeful of uncovering scandals and improvements the peers made in their lifetime.

One family that had interested him greatly was the de Chagny family. They had been patrons of the opera, supporters of the industry surrounding their seat and promoters of the developmental changes that had taken place in the late nineteenth century. But the thriving family appeared to suffer a double heartache in such a short period of time.

First, Philippe, the Comte de Chagny seemed to have disappeared from the earth. His younger brother Raoul, now the Comte was questioned incessantly about his brother's disappearance, yet the young man maintained his innocence. Scarcely two months after his brother's death Raoul died. Many of the stories maintained that he had died of grief; first the loss of his beloved opera singer and his brother and the continual questioning and dishonour brought about from the police's inquiry.

The line ended with Raoul, the Comte de Chagny.

The de Chagny estate returned to the state.


End file.
